


Though the Darkness Comes

by spiffywimple



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lyrium Withdrawal, Romance, Slow Burn, Withdrawal, slow burn is the best kind of burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 65,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffywimple/pseuds/spiffywimple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen stood up from the chessboard, resuming his usual self-assured posture. He gave her a small smile. “Back to work, I suppose. If you ever need someone to <em>conquer you</em> again, Inquisitor, I would be happy to oblige.”<br/>It might have been a perfectly innocent comment. She <em>had</em> used that word, after all. But something about the way he said it, <em>conquer you</em>, made her knees feel weak. She hurried up to the library for the safety of a good book.<br/>She was not afraid of Cullen Rutherford. But she could no longer deny that she was utterly smitten with him.</p><p>An attempt to elaborate on a realistic relationship between the Inquisition's Commander and Inquisitor from both of their points of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen commands the fledgling Inquisition's paltry forces. His task is not made any easier by the hole ripped in the sky, but a woman people are calling the Herald of Andraste is able to close the rifts. He tries to ensure that the Inquisition enlists the right sort of help: the templars.

Cullen

Snowflakes fell onto Cullen’s face as he exited Haven’s chantry on his way to the makeshift training yard outside the walls. It was the same walk he’d made dozens of times, but the Inquisition had been declared officially reborn, and that morning felt different. While his day-to day work would not change much, training the Inquisition’s small forces weighed more heavily on his mind. The stress was compounded by the loss all Chantry support ( _no thanks to Roderick, the snake_ ), and the fact that Cassandra and Leliana seemed set on seeking the blasted rebel mages’ help in closing the breach. How could pouring more magic into it do anything but make things worse? He glanced up at the great gash in the sky in the west before looking away quickly, as if paying it too much attention could start it spewing out demons again.

A sudden shot of pain behind his eyes momentarily stopped him in his tracks. He stood at the top of the steps near the gate, rubbing his brow as it faded before descending the steps and continuing out to the training yard. The headaches had been getting more frequent over the last few weeks. Whether from the strain of his new position or from his other challenge, he didn’t know.

He tried to keep his expression nonchalant as a soldier approached him.

“Knight-Commander, I’ve the report you asked for.”

“That’s just ‘Commander’ now, Karras. How many did we lose?”

“Yes, Commander. A few dozen. If the Herald had not weakened the breach, we would have been out of men within the fortnight.”

Cullen skimmed the report. Karras was probably right about that. “Thank you, soldier. Return to your duties.”

“Ser!” Karras left him with a salute. 

That mark on the prisoner’s - no, the  _Herald of Andraste’s_  hand was one of the few blessings the new Inquisition had been granted. If it could be called a _blessing_. He was sceptical of the title the people had given to Elowen Trevelyan. While he no longer believed her guilty of causing the explosion at the Conclave, he found it hard to believe that the mark on her hand was the work of the Maker. Its connection to the rifts gave it it a flavour far too sinister. The rumoured appearance of Andraste behind her as she fell from the Fade spread like wildfire through the village and beyond based on the testimony of just a few survivors, who were themselves hardly of sound mind at the time. He supposed it was  _possible_  she could be the Herald of Andraste, but it did seem rather…  _heretical_ to think so.

Nonetheless the Herald seemed willing enough to help them, once she'd recovered. Cullen had not seen her in battle, but according to Cassandra she was a capable archer, and her suggestions led to the survival of Leliana’s agents in the mountain pass. The woman herself seemed intelligent and friendly. Or at least as friendly as a Marcher noble could be, anyway. Not exactly the type to murder hundreds of innocents.

More than anything, though, Cullen was happy to have another willing recruit join their cause. If she was able to close the rifts in the Veil, so much the better.

* * *

 

“Excuse me, Commander. I think you ought to see this.”

Cullen looked up from the iron pieces on the war table, supressing his annoyance at being interrupted. He had enjoyed the solitude and peace of strategy.

“What is it, soldier?” The Commander enquired.

“Some of the templars and mages are arguing outside the chantry. I wouldn’t bother you with this, Ser, only a crowd has gathered...” the soldier trailed off nervously.

_Andraste preserve me._

He predicted there would be some tension between the ex-templar and mage survivors that had stayed on in Haven as recruits. He had tried to impress upon the soldiers that they were all part of the Inquisition now, that they had to work together, but the events at the Conclave had inevitably fired up tempers, each side suspecting it was the other who caused the explosion. Cullen thought that was pretty good evidence that  _neither_  side was responsible, but the recruits were not so easily convinced and conflict resolution was _not_ his forte. He realised he was scowling, no doubt further terrifying the young soldier in front of him.

“Thank you, soldier,” Cullen said quickly, and marched out of the war room as the soldier followed him.

Even through the heavy doors of the chantry, he could hear two men arguing over murmurs of a crowd outside. He threw open the doors, letting the wintry air rush into the building.

“Shut your mouth, mage!” shouted a templar, one who had followed him from Kirkwall, as he reached to draw his sword.

“Enough!” Cullen lunged forward, pushing the two men apart.

“Knight Commander–“

“That is  _not_  my title! We are not templars any longer, we are  _all_  part of the Inquisition!”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” The unexpected voice of Chancellor Roderick above the crowd made Cullen want to roll his eyes.

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m curious, Commander, as to how your Inquisition and its  _Herald_  will restore order as you’ve promised.”

“Of course you are,” Cullen snarled in reply.

The instigators of the argument had backed away, looking mildly sheepish. At least that was dealt with.

“Back to your duties, all of you!” He turned back to Roderick. “Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death.”

The crowd began to disperse around them. As they went, he noted the Herald approaching them. She must have just returned from the Fereldan Hinterlands: her boots were covered in mud and she walked with a slight limp.

_Perhaps she is not quite as capable as Cassandra thinks._

She was just in time, too – the Inquisition had to show its face in Val Royeaux as soon as possible, and the Herald of Andraste it claimed was reuiqred to make an appearance lest they be seen as a joke.

“… A  _proper_  authority to guide them back to order,” came Roderick's voice.

 _Maker, is this man still talking?_   _A "proper authority"?_

"Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

_Perhaps if I insult him enough, he will just go away._

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called 'Herald of Andraste'? I think not!” Roderick scoffed.

Said Herald was now close enough to hear this insult. “I don’t know, the Inquisition seems about as functional as any young family,” she called out, a small smirk on her face. Cullen suppressed a smile.

“How many families are on the verge of splitting into open warfare with themselves?”

“Yes, because that would never happen to the Chantry,” was her sarcastic reply.

“Centuries of tradition will guide us. We are not the upstart, eager to turn over every apple cart.”

The Herald eyed Roderick for a moment before turning to Cullen. “Remind me why you’re allowing the Chancellor to stay?”

She put on a tough act, but her voice faltered a little.

“Clearly your  _templar_  knows where to draw the line,” Roderick interrupted.

Cullen ignored him. “He’s toothless. There’s no point turning him into a martyr simply because he runs at the mouth. The chancellor’s a good indicator of what to expect in Val Royeaux, however.”

She nodded slowly. “I’ll make sure they see reason.”

“I pray you’re right,” Cullen replied, not really sharing her optimism.

* * *

 

With the Herald’s trek to Val Royeaux inspiring a trickle of new recruits – against all odds - to make the “pilgrimage” to Haven each day and Dennet's horses allowing cavalry training to get underway, Cullen’s workload increased rapidly. Not that he minded. More work meant the Inquisition was growing stronger. But with more work came more headaches, and the more painful ones would cause distraction, spreading down the muscles of his neck and into his back. After a shorter night’s sleep than usual and overseeing training since the early hours of the morning, Cullen excused himself from observing the afternoon’s archery drills with the excuse of “Paperwork.” Although it wasn’t really an excuse: he did have  _mountains_  of it.

He sat down at the makeshift desk in his tent and half-heartedly rubbed the back of his neck as he forced himself to read. Requisitions, updates on troop movements, days-old missives from Leliana and Josephine…

As he read the reports from the Hinterlands, Cullen had to admit he was impressed by the Herald’s efforts. According to Cassandra’s report, the last few weeks had been spent doing everything from rooting out the rebel mage and templar strongholds to running errands for villagers. While her actions in the Hinterlands were not particularly efficient or logical, the Herald had certainly seemed to be  _persuasive._  She had increased the Inquisition’s influence significantly in a short period of time. Perhaps like some sort of scout-soldier-ambassador hybrid. He chuckled quietly at the thought of a grotesque conjoining of himself, Leliana, and Josephine, quickly regaining his composure at a call from outside.

“Are you in there, Commander?”

“Yes, what is it?” He rose and opened the tent flap, realising that his headache had already abated.

 _Perhaps I should do paperwork more often_.

The scout held out a sealed report. “A report from Sister Leliana.”

“Thank you.” He nodded to the scout, who saluted as Cullen returned to his tent to peruse this latest update.

_Commander,_

_My agents in Val Royeaux report that Cassandra and the Herald arrived safely, before attempting to reason with an irate Revered Mother Hevara and her angry mob. They were as successful as you might imagine. Fortunately, Lord Seeker Lucius arrived to draw the crowd’s anger by assaulting the Revered Mother and declaring Val Royeaux unworthy of the Order’s protection and he refused to ally with us in closing the breach. Grand Enchanter Fiona of all people approached our envoy, offering a possible alliance. While I do not trust the Grand Enchanter, with the ability of the templars to help close the breach remaining speculative at best, I believe this rebuff from the Lord Seeker cements the rebel mages as our most useful allies._

_Sister Leliana_

Cullen’s headache returned with a vengeance as he read Leliana’s last sentence. What could the Lord Seeker  _possibly_  be thinking? There must be others in the Order that would still see reason. The Inquisition  _must_  ally with the templars. The alternative… he shuddered. Haven filled to the brim with rebel mages? There were too few templars, _far_ too few, to keep them in check. His views on magic had mellowed since his time under Meredith, but there was no wisdom in inviting hundreds of apostates for a misguided attempt at closing the breach.

This would not stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so for reading! This has been my first piece of creative(-ish) writing since high school and I am truly sorry to inflict it upon you. I just had to get it out of my head!
> 
> Edited 28/2/15 to clear up some ambiguities and hopefully improve readability.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elowen Trevelyan is not used to the adventuring lifestyle, and seeks some help to improve in her new role in the Inquisition.

Elowen

Elowen trudged along behind Solas and Cassandra, her feet aching. The journey to Val Royeaux had been a long one, made on foot, and she had not had time to rest after their escapades in the Hinterlands. She glared at the horses newly housed in the stables.

_Why couldn’t you have arrived two weeks earlier?_

The horses whuffed in response.

“So,  _this_  is Haven?” Vivienne asked, a slight sneer in her voice.

“It certainly is! Welcome!” Elowen replied, perhaps a little too chirpily. She was sure Vivienne had detected the sarcasm and the Court Enchanter did not reply. Elowen couldn’t imagine the beautiful mage much enjoying her fine silks in freezing Haven.

“You don’t sound too fond of it, yourself,” Varric observed from her right.

She liked Haven, she really did. She loved the way the frigid wind always made her feel awake and was awed by the sight of the towering Frostbacks each time she set foot outside. But it was isolated and cramped, and she was very aware that everyone  _else_  was aware of her upbringing, and knew she came off as stuck-up.

“I really enjoy it here!” She insisted enthusiastically.

_That might have missed the mark again._

“I bet you do.”

She decided to remain silent as their party, made larger than when it departed by Vivienne and Sera (who had skipped ahead of them a while ago), proceeded into Haven. The group split away slowly as Varric stopped at his tent, Solas headed over to the alchemist’s shop, and Vivienne stayed behind to scrutinise the village’s prospect. Elowen caught a glimpse of Sera’s yellow plaideweave leggings slipping into the Singing Maiden in the distance as she automatically turned toward her little cottage for some rest.

_Sweet sleep!_

But no, a hand on her shoulder.

“Where do you think you are going?” Cassandra enquired, not entirely without humour.

“Do you really need  _me_?” Surely Cassandra would be much more adept at reporting their progress to the leaders of the Inquisition.

“The Grand Enchanter’s invitation was to  _you_. Don’t discount your role in what happened in Val Royeaux. The Revered Mother, let alone the Lord Seeker, would not have even been there were it not for the appearance of the  _heretic_ Herald of Andraste.” Cassandra finished with distaste. Elowen paused outside her door briefly to mourn her lost rest before following Cassandra up to the chantry.

Josephine approached them as soon as they entered.  “It’s good you’ve returned. We heard of your encounter.” She did sound genuinely pleased, and Elowen felt a glow of gratitude for the ambassador.

“It’s a shame the templars have abandoned their senses as well as the capital.” Cullen snarled as he walked towards them from the war room with Leliana.

Elowen, uncomfortable with the Commander’s annoyance, attempted to focus on the bright side. “At least we know how to approach the mages and templars now.”

“Do we? Lord Seeker Lucius is not the man I remember.” Cassandra had been visibly shaken by the Lord Seeker’s behaviour.

“True. He has taken the order somewhere, but to do what? My reports have been… very odd,” Leliana pondered.

The Commander turned to Leliana. “We must look into it. I’m certain not everyone in the Order will support the Lord Seeker.” Leliana opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Josephine’s suggestion that the Herald go meet the mages in Redcliffe.

 “You think the mage rebellion is more united? It could be ten times worse!” the Commander said, his voice rising.

Elowen attempted to think through the options before them, trying to come up with a solution that would stop the fruitless argument. But her aching muscles, her tired eyes, her still-swollen ankle from a misstep in the Hinterlands prevented any rational thought.

“Or you could all stop bickering and make a decision!” She snapped.

_Shit. Did I just yell at the leaders of the Inquisition? Andraste save me._

“I agree,” Cassandra said.

A relief washed over Elowen. “Really? I… I just meant I am happy to talk to either side, if it will help.” For a short moment, all three advisors were looking at  _her_. She had to work to keep her chin up to meet their eyes. The moment passed, and they agreed that the Herald should meet with the mages in Redcliffe, but the Inquisition would need more influence if they were to form an alliance with either side.

The impromptu meeting concluded, Elowen walked slowly back to her cottage, filthy boots crunching slowly through the snow. She managed a small smile (or a grimace?) for one of the villagers as he welcomed her back to Haven. Fumbling with the door handle for a moment, she fell through the doorway and made her way to the bed, where she collapsed in her armour.

* * *

 

Elowen awoke with her legs feeling like heavy, aching tree trunks, as was becoming usual for her these days. Her back and arms had stopped hurting a few days ago, due to the trip to Val Royeaux being mercifully light on combat. She slowly stripped off her slept-in armour, leaving red creases along her bruised arms and legs. Her left ankle was still angrily swollen from walking on it for two weeks after the initial minor injury. She had almost gotten used to the presence of the invasive mark on her left hand, it causing her less pain now that the breach had been stabilised. In the absence of a full-length mirror to scrutinise the extent of the damage, she simply stared down at her body.

 _Maker, I am a mess_.

She changed into her casual leather outfit as quickly as her sore limbs would allow before returning to bed to recover from the exertion.

 _I am not cut out for this_.

She had been raised to join the chantry, to use her mind, not her muscles. She had been taught some archery, as befits a noblewoman, but had not been a prodigy by any means, having been consistently shown up by Varric and Sera in marksmanship during her short career with the Inquisition. Never mind her complete lack of physical fitness. The trek up to the Temple of Sacred Ashes from Haven was the furthest she had ever travelled on foot before she was dubbed “Herald”, and she had taken several breaks just to make it that far. Running around the Hinterlands next to the halla-like Cassandra, all tireless legs and graceful movements, was humiliating. If she was to be of any use to the Inquisition, she would have to improve. With that thought, she struggled bravely out of bed and stepped out into the bracing air to look for Sera.

The tavern was busy, but Elowen spotted Sera right near the door. She ordered something to break her fast at the counter before gesturing to the elf to sit with her. She had asked Sera a little about her past and about the “Red Jennies” on the journey from Val Royeaux, and while she found her a little standoffish, Elowen liked her quick humour.

“So, this is it, huh?” Sera appraised, tankard in hand. Elowen raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, no it’s fine, yeah? It’s just, I thought it’d be bigger.” Sera giggled. “That would’ve been hilarious if you were a man, right? Wasted,” she said in a tone of bitter disappointment.

Elowen smiled despite herself as Sera explained her plans for stopping the war and fixing the sky, like it were just a matter of saying so. Flissa brought over a plate of bread and cheese and Elowen devoured it, chatting with the elf as she went. But her lamentations from earlier in the morning were not far from her mind, and it wasn’t long before she changed the topic to archery.

“You’re… skilled. Who taught you how to use a bow?”

“No one.”

“That seems unlikely.”

“What? I picked it up here and there. Mostly it just makes sense. It’s not like that for you?”

Elowen recalled the high standards of her childhood instructor with a pained expression. “Usually it takes considerable discipline. Hence my question.” There must have been  _someone_  who taught her to shoot so well.

_Am I just a really terrible archer?_

“… Hence? Look, I work at it. Practice. A little. Not like Cullen and his pets.”

_Of course! The Inquisition’s archers train daily. How did I not think of that myself?_

“I mean, you miss, then you don’t. Is it that hard to see when it’s wrong?” Sera continued.

Glad that she had a new plan, Elowen was still incredulous about Sera’s being self-taught. “I… I suppose not.”

“Maybe I just make it look easy in shite company?”

Elowen was crestfallen.

“Oh, not you, you silly nugface.” Sera reassured. “Fact still is, no teacher. Where would I find one in alleyways anyway? Pfft.”

“Fine, keep your secrets!” Elowen huffed as she swallowed the last of her bread. She stood to leave and paused for a moment. “I’m glad to have you with us, Sera.”

“See you,  _Herald_.”

Elowen exited the tavern, wincing as her sore legs complained against the walk down the gentle slope to the training yard. The Commander stood with one of his ex-templar lieutenants among a crowd of recruits practicing blocking drills. She hesitated, not wanting to interrupt the Commander. She had not yet spoken with him outside the war room, outside of a shared conversation. He was imposing enough alone; surrounded by other soldiers he was positively unapproachable.

“You there! There’s a shield in your hand. Block with it.” He called, voice filled with a confidence Elowen could only dream of. “If this man were your enemy, you’d be dead. Lieutenant, don’t hold back. The recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.”

“Yes, Commander!” Snapped the lieutenant.

Looking over his shoulder, the Commander made eye contact with Elowen.

_No escaping now._

She took a deep breath and approached.

“We’ve received a number of recruits. Locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance  _you_  did.”

Elowen felt her face heating. “I just hope I can help.”

“As do we all. It is enough that you would try. I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself.” He continued talking as he read a report passed to him by a soldier. “I was there during the mage uprising – I saw firsthand the devastation it caused. Cassandra sought a solution. When she offered me a position, I left the templars to join her cause. Now it seems we face something much worse.” She followed his gaze to the breach in the west, feeling its green glow illuminate her face.

“I must have this mark for a reason… I hope it works.” She attempted to imitate the Commander’s confidence and failed.

“We will, provided we can secure aid – but I’m confident we can. The Chantry lost control of both templars and mages.” He turned to face her. He spoke with earnest enthusiasm and she began to relax. “Now they argue over a new Divine while the breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry cannot.” More than confidence now –  _passion_. “Our followers would be part of that. There’s  _so_  much we can –“ He seemed to remember himself, and Elowen was a little disappointed. “Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it.” She wasn’t entirely joking.

The Commander laughed. “Another time, perhaps.” She smiled, at last feeling at ease. She was happy to have seen this side of him. His usual demeanour was a little more  _jackboot_.

“I, uh… there’s still a lot of work ahead…” he looked away from her.

_What. The Commander of the Inquisition, shy?_

“Commander! Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.” A scout approached them.

The Commander chuckled. “As I was saying…” He walked over to the scout, confidence restored. He skimmed the report before glancing up at her. “Was there something else you needed, Herald?”

“I… yes.” She took a breath, her nervousness returning as she remembered her purpose for coming to speak with him. “As you might have noticed, I am not the Inquisition’s most skilled soldier.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Cassandra has described you as ‘capable’ in her reports.”

“Has she?” She felt a swell of affection towards the Seeker. “Perhaps she means I am capable for a novice. I wanted to ask if…” Another deep breath, shifting on her feet. “If I could join the Inquisition’s archers for their training sessions while I am in Haven.”

He regarded her for a moment, expression unreadable. “Of course. Ser Bryant is in charge of training our archers. I’ll tell him you wish to train with them. You will remain in Haven for a few days at least, to rest?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

He rubbed his neck absentmindedly. “Good. Archery training is held first thing in the morning. I hope to see you with them tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Commander.” She managed a small smile as she left, feeling a little hopeful at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Googling, I learned that "Trevelyan" is a Cornish name, so I decided to make my Inquisitor's first name Cornish, too. I sometimes find it hard to tell fics apart if their PC's names are the default.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his withdrawals worsen, Cullen tries to convince the Herald of the necessity of siding with the templars and fails awkwardly.

Cullen

Cullen awoke at dawn to a nightmare and a splitting headache. He dressed quickly and left his tent, the freezing air pulling him out of his dreams and into reality. He passed a few sleepy soldiers on his way to the Haven’s gates, slowly going about their morning duties. He passed them quickly, almost running up the stone steps, hoping to push the pain out of his skull with a rush of blood. The chantry was still blessedly empty as he marched to the war room. He placed his hands on the table, leaning on it, and let his head droop from his shoulders with a grimace. Hot pain ran from his head down his back in time with his pulse and he thanked the Maker that he was alone. He stood like that for a moment as the ache started to weaken.

 _To work_.

Looking down at the map, he considered their likelihood of convincing the templars to help them close the breach. A planned expedition to the Storm Coast should help the Herald expand their influence, hopefully enough to safely approach the Lord Seeker. It was just a matter of convincing the other leaders of the Inquisition that the templars were their best option. Leliana was set on approaching the rebel mages, but Cassandra would likely favour the templars when push came to shove, and Josephine did not seem to have a strong opinion either way. Since it was the Herald who would be doing the negotiating, if Cullen could just convince her, that should be enough to ensure that the Inquisition reached out to the templars first. He _had_ to win her over.

* * *

 

The new recruits continued to slowly swell their numbers, and with them, Cullen’s conviction in the Inquisition’s cause was strengthened. Pilgrims hoping to honour Divine Justinia’s memory made up the bulk of them, but increasingly those lured by the legend of the Herald’s divine survival arrived from the areas she had travelled in Ferelden and Orlais. But despite the pilgrims that came to gape and whisper at her, she seemed just as uncomfortable with the attention as when he had first met her. Cullen was glad of it. If this…  _worship_  had gone to her head, the Inquisition would be faced with more resistance than it already was. They didn’t need an attention-seeking loose cannon as a figurehead.

He resolved to speak with her that morning, to gauge her opinion on allying with the templars. His stomach did a little flip at the prospect. Last time they had spoken, he had gotten carried away waxing theatrical about the Inquisition’s cause before he managed to collect himself. But she had smiled at him and seemed just as enthusiastic as he felt. Andraste’s chosen or not, she inspired people; a fact that Leliana and Josephine were content to use to their full advantage.

Cullen went about his own training with the Inquisition’s footmen that morning, the exercise washing the last of his aches away. Bryant had sent the archers out to run around the frozen lake at the end of their training session, and the last of them were returning. He looked for the Herald among their numbers but couldn’t find her face.

“Bryant, was the Herald with you this morning?”

“Aye, Commander.” Bryant jerked his head toward the lake, gesturing. “There she is.”

Cullen squinted across the lake and spotted her, a small figure moving slowly in the distance. “Ah.”

Bryant, showing his worth, made no other comment.

“How goes the rest of her training?”

“She’s as good a shot as the others, but not strong. She tires quickly and her aim suffers. She  _has_  improved from this last week of training, though, Commander. We’ll make a marksman of her yet.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, Ser.”

The Herald had finally come into view, struggling past the stables, her loud panting audible from where they stood outside Haven’s gates. She came to a stop in front of Bryant, face flushed and chest heaving.

“That’s all for this morning, Herald. Rest up,” Bryant said pityingly. A look of pained relief washed over the Herald’s face and she nodded, unable to speak. When Bryant headed back to the training yard but Cullen did not, she glared at him.

“Did you come here to watch me struggle, Commander?” She panted as her breathing began to slow.

“I- no, of course not.” He desperately tried to think of something kind to say. “Bryant said you’re improving.”

Her face lit up. “He did? Oh, thank the Maker. I’ve felt no difference.”

Her face was glowing and sweaty and she was smiling at him. She was also very pretty. The combination made his mind see fit to show her hot and smiling and _tangled in bedsheets_. He felt his face heat and he looked away from her, cursing inwardly.

_You are a grown man, Cullen. Pull yourself together._

“I, uh…” He grasped.

“I wanted to ask you about the templars, Commander, if that’s alright.”

_Thank you, Maker._

“If you need insight into what the order is doing now, I’m afraid I can’t offer more than you already know. Anything else, I will answer as best I can.” Cullen silently prayed to Andraste that he would maintain his composure.

He tried to give her a positive view of the Order, a view he hoped she would already hold. She seemed more interested in what the day-to-day templar life was like for him, and he told her of his experiences. Perhaps she wondered what like had been like for her relatives in the Order? Could she possibly want to join herself?

He had just explained the vigil and his headache threatened a recurrence at his mention of a templar’s first draught of lyrium when his hard-won composure was shattered again.

“Are templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?”

 _Physical temptations._  He strained to keep the thoughts that threatened out of his mind.  _Why would she ask this? Not for her relatives, for_ herself _? Maker…_

“Physical? Why… why would you…”  _Andraste preserve me._  “That’s… not expected. Templars can marry – although there are rules about it, and the Order must give permission.” He rambled. “Some may choose to give up more to prove their devotion but it’s, um, not required.”

“I uh… I see,” She said, her voice quavering. “Would… why would templars break away from the Chantry?”

Cullen was grateful for the change of subject and managed to look her in the face again as he answered. “I may disagree with the Order’s action – that I’m here is proof of that – but I sympathise with their frustrations.” When she asked what he thought of mages he answered fairly. He would admit he had been bigoted in the past, but he was truly ashamed of that now. Nevertheless he tried to impress upon her the real dangers of allying with the mages – possessions, abominations, and not enough templars to keep them  _all_  safe.

The Herald looked at him carefully and asked, “What happened at the Circle Tower?”

_Is she that perceptive? No, she must just be curious._

He pushed back the memories, a practiced habit. “Few who survived the Blight have fond memories of that time. I would prefer not to speak of it.”

“Of course. I shouldn’t have asked. That’s… all I wanted to know.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, and Cullen wasn’t sure if that was a good sign. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Should you require anything, I’ll be here.”

As she walked away, Cullen looked up at the sky and let out a deep breath. He had meant to understand more about her opinions on the templars, but she left him more confused than ever.

* * *

 

The Herald returned from the Storm Coast with news of the Grey Wardens, an alliance with a cult of religious bandits (who would stay behind, mercifully), and a large Qunari mercenary captain and his “Chargers.” With the Coast explored, she was sent off to the Hinterlands once again to take up the Grand Enchanter’s invitation before it lapsed, and returned with news that the situation in Redcliffe was worse than Cullen imagined. Surely they would need to approach the templars for help now. There could be no way around it.

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle! Either we find another way in, or give up this nonsense and go get the templars!”

Leliana was not impressed with his ultimatum.

“A Tevinter magister controls Redcliffe, invites us to the castle to talk, and  _some_  of us want to do nothing!”

She was testing his patience. How could she not see that this was a death trap?

He turned to the Herald. “If you go in there, you’ll die.”

Her eyes grew wide. Cullen had managed to avoid a repeat of his embarrassing lack of professionalism over the last few weeks. He had been able to speak with her about Inquisition business respectfully, without  _degrading_  her in his head.

Now, once again, his mind conjured images of her against his will. But this time wide-eyed, broken and burned by magic uncontrolled. His stomach roiled and he fought to keep his mind clear.

“And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts,” he added. “I won’t allow it.”

But the Herald was determined. “We can’t just give up. There has to be something we can do. Other than the main gate there’s got to be another way into the castle.”

“There’s nothing I know of that would work.” Cullen concluded. They would give up on this madness and seek the templars’ aid.

“Wait…” Leliana said, a cursed idea forming in her mind.

And so, to Cullen’s chagrin, the Herald of Andraste was sent into the clutches of a deranged magister wielding time magic, by her own free will. He watched her go, along with the Tevinter mage who had arrived just after her return, claiming to know of Alexius’s magic. Cullen didn’t trust him, but he was outnumbered by Leliana and Josephine. Cassandra would accompany them, making the situation only slightly less dire; the Seeker would be able to stop the mage should he try anything.

With the templars forced out of the question, all Cullen could do was wait, plan, and pray for the Herald’s success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, friends! I'm really not too happy with this chapter. Reading it after having written another eight chapters makes its flaws pretty clear. I think I'll have to re-write it in future, but for now, I hope you don't entirely give up on me :)
> 
> Update: re-written 31/1/16, yay.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elowen struggles to cope with her experiences in the Elder One's future.

Elowen

It was lucky that Haven was only a couple of days’ journey from Redcliffe, because Elowen could not sleep. Dorian would go into his tent each night but the lines under his eyes told her that he wasn’t getting his eight hours, either. Cassandra and Varric tried to talk to her for a day, but they were rebuffed by her one-word replies. So they left her alone. So did Dorian, but that was because he understood. He seemed to prefer snark and false laughs to silence though, and his verbal jabs were their company as they climbed the foothills of the Frostbacks.

Varric stayed by the campfire late the night before they were due to reach Haven, jotting down a draft on some spare parchment, long after the other two had retired to their tents. Finally, around midnight, he stood up and stretched.

“You should really get some sleep, you know. I hear it’s good for you,” he advised.

She considered it briefly, but the idea of being alone with her mind, full with the raw memories of Redcliffe Castle, put an end to that idea.

“Thanks,” was the reply Varric got, and he bent over to pack up his parchment.

“Did I do the right thing?” Elowen wondered, perhaps to herself. When Varric didn’t respond, she thought he hadn’t heard her, and decided it was for the best.

Straightening up, the dwarf looked at her as she stared blankly into the fire.

“It’ll be alright. Go to bed.”

He sounded so certain. But he hadn’t _seen_. She heard Varric sigh and enter his tent.

* * *

 

As Elowen trudged toward Haven’s chantry with Dorian and Cassandra beside her, she was aware – uncomfortably, entirely aware – that she was going to have to explain herself. She would see the judgment in their eyes and they would regret ever giving her such responsibility.

The crushing exhaustion of the mission and journey back drowned out her usual self-consciousness, the omnipresent requirement to act _like a lady_. The terror of the Elder One’s future had eclipsed her fear of being socially awkward – the leaders of the Inquisition, even the Commander, were nothing, _nothing_ like that. But regardless of her inability to be nervous, she knew her future with the Inquisition was about to change course, one way or another. Maybe they would kick her out and she could go back home to Ostwick, pretending she was safe and happy until the Elder One’s grasp inevitably reached her.

They stepped over the chantry threshold and Elowen heard the anger she had been expecting.

“It’s not a matter for debate!” the Commander growled at Josephine. ”There will be abominations among the mages, and we must be prepared!”

Of course Leliana’s agents had sent word of her offer to the mages. At least it was a little less explaining she had to do. 

Seemingly by themselves, her legs carried her toward them, toward the Commander’s wrath. He turned to her and she braced herself.

“What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight? The Veil is torn open! They will only be  _more_  powerful here!”

She held his blazing gaze with less effort than she expected. “Forgive me if I was not in the mood to imprison hundreds of desperate people!” She replied, voice rising.

He glowered back at her and she vaguely realised what she was doing, how she was acting. A brief moment of introspection suggested that maybe she was delirious from lack of sleep, but with a sick lurch of her stomach, quickly remembered exactly what she was afraid of. It just wasn’t Cullen Rutherford.

“We need them to close the Breach. That’s not going to work if we make enemies of them,” she reasoned, still louder than her mother would have approved of.

The Commander didn’t agree. “They could do as much damage as the demons themselves! You were there, Seeker! Why didn’t you intervene?”

“While I may not completely agree with the decision, I support it. The sole point of the Herald’s mission was to gain the mages’ aid, and that was accomplished. Closing the Breach is all that matters.”

Elowen was astonished. She was sure  _Cassandra_ , of all people, would have thought her an irredeemable fool at this point. Perhaps her position was not as precarious as she had assumed.

“I saw what will happen if we fail,” Elowen murmured to the room.

_‘Eyes up, Elowen!’_

She met the eyes of the leaders. “I’ll do my best to close the Breach.”

“We should look into the things you saw in this dark future” Leliana said to her. “The assassination of Empress Celene? A demon army?”

_Is there anything this woman doesn’t know about? No one has even written a report yet…_

The Commander sighed, apparently defeated. “One battle at a time. Let’s take this to the war room.” And with that, he disappeared into said room.

Elowen breathed a sigh of relief.

“Join us, when you’re ready.” Josephine offered kindly.

“Thank you, but I think I might take some rest, if that’s alright.” Never mind that spending time in a small room with the irate Commander was one of the least appealing things she could think of.

“Of course. I’ve no doubt we will be planning our next move well into the week. Rest well.”

Elowen returned Josephine’s smile as she, Cassandra, and Leliana followed the Commander. Dorian stayed.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing this Breach up close, if you don’t mind.”

“Feel free! It’s just a short walk.” She said, gesturing toward the hole in the sky. “Wait. Does that mean you’re staying?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? The South is so charming and rustic. I adore it to little pieces.”

She smiled, the ability to turn feelings into words exhausted.

She wanted more than anything to just pass out, but there was work to be done.

“Could you help me write up a report, Dorian? I don’t think I can remember all the details myself in this state. Maybe two of us can make something coherent.”

“Of course.”

On a piece of parchment in Josephine’s office, Dorian helped her relive her terror. She thanked him and rose on unsteady legs to take it to the war room. She knocked three times, not as hard as she would have liked, and handed the report to Leliana, her duties finally complete.

Her eyelids felt like lead and her body like she had drunk too much wine. The cold mountain air was not enough to refresh her this time. But under the fatigue and dull dread there was now a gentle hint of relief. She could continue on with the Inquisition. Excepting the Commander, who she knew would never support a mage alliance, the Inquisition’s leaders seemed to vaguely approve of her actions. And with Dorian staying, she might not have to be alone with her fears. She paused at the door to her cottage and wondered if sleep might not be possible, exhaustion battling with terror. Exhaustion won.

* * *

 

Elowen awoke suddenly, gasping for air, heart beating like a bird’s wings against her ribcage. Her mind was filled, against her will, with the faces of her tortured friends, voices warped by pain and red lyrium. The fear was as strong as it had been in Redcliffe Castle, and she spent several minutes staring around the darkness of her cottage until she believed she was really there.

She threw herself out of bed and put on her coat before stumbling out into the frigid night. It was windy, and the sting of it on her skin took her mind out of her fear just enough. She started walking.

She hardly knew where she went. When her legs stopped shaking she looked up and saw she was on the jetty near the training grounds. That was alright.

She stood for a while, staring at the moon, until, over the rush of the wind, she was sure she heard _footsteps_.

_Who?_

She whirled around, reaching for her bow and grasping air. A dark figure stepped onto the jetty and she felt the panic rising, hot up her spine, before it spoke.

“Herald? Is that you?”

 _The Commander._  She almost collapsed with relief.

_I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford._

“Yes, it’s me.” She failed to keep the tremor from her voice, but tried to act calm anyway. “Trouble sleeping, Commander?”

“What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death.”

She couldn’t think of anything to say in response, but he didn’t leave her. He wore a thick woollen coat instead of his armour and mantle, making him look less like a lion and more like a man. He walked closer to her, examining her face for… what, signs of madness?

“I read your report.”

 _Oh_.

“I knew that you had fought the magister, that he’d used time magic and you had some glimpse of the future, but I never imagined…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

_I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford._

“I am… sorry, for how I spoke you today.” He said finally.

“Oh, that’s… that’s quite alright, Commander. I know you-”

“No, it isn’t. We put the choice of how to deal with the mages on your shoulders, and you did what you thought best. While I might disagree, you haven’t steered us wrong yet.”

 _Steered? I haven’t been doing any steering_.

He continued. “After what we put you through at Redcliffe,  _I_  have no right to berate  _you._ ”

She wanted to tell him it was alright, but he’d already told her it wasn’t, so she stayed silent, avoiding his eyes, her heart refusing to slow. She was aware her silence was making the Commander uncomfortable, but she couldn’t think what to say over the rushing in her ears.

“Are you alright?” He asked, stepping closer, only arm’s length away.

“I…”  _No_. “I’m…”  _No_. She started to shake, whether from the fear or cold she couldn’t tell.

He put his hand on her shoulder, bringing her out of her confusion. She looked up at him but he closed the space between them, holding her to him with his arms warily around her shoulders. The heat radiating from him helped, and she crossed her arms over her stomach and let him warm her until she stopped shaking.

When they came apart, she needed to ask him a question. She didn’t care if it was imprudent, or if he didn’t know the answer, but she needed to hear any answer from someone, from anyone that wasn’t herself.

“Do you think I can do it?”

She could tell he could see the terror in her eyes.

“I don’t know.” He said quietly. “But even if it’s impossible to close the breach, if all our efforts have been for nothing,  _you_  are our best chance. If anyone can do this, it’s you. We have no other option.”

That was a good point. Even if she would fail, she had to try.

She nodded. “Thank you, Commander.”

He smiled at her, and her heart finally began to calm.

“Let me take you back to your cottage. I think you’ve spent enough time out in the cold tonight.” He walked back to her cottage next to her, with the sound of the wind whistling around them and their boots crunching on the snow. They stopped outside her door.

“Goodnight, Commander.”

“Goodnight, Herald.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but In Hushed Whispers messed me up for a few days. That shit is *heavy* when you take Cassandra and Varric with you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cullen comes to terms with the mage alliance, his focus turns to supporting the Herald in closing the Breach. But as much as he might wish otherwise, nothing could have prepared the Inquisition for what followed.

Cullen

The rebel mages began to arrive from Redcliffe the day after the “negotiating party” returned and within the week Haven had become the new home of all of the Grand Enchanter’s people. Cullen instructed the templars among the Inquisition’s forces to keep an eye out for any signs of possession, but pressed them to remember that the mages were their full allies. Haven would not become another circle under his watch.

It had been a while since he had been surrounded by mages and the old fear would bubble up with each whisper of a robe behind him, each unfamiliar incantation, but he managed. He had to manage, for the Inquisition and for the Herald. Etched into his thoughts was the haunted, empty look in her eyes as she stood, shivering, on the jetty the night she returned from Redcliffe, seemingly paralysed by the burden he and the other leaders had placed in her hands. He prayed he had said the right words.

When he had mentioned an Inquisition patrol was missing in the Fallow Mire, the Herald volunteered to investigate the matter herself.

“There’s nothing more I can do here until the mages arrive,” she said easily. “Spare your men and let me look into it.”

She seemed far more enthusiastic than most people would be at the prospect of venturing into chilly swamplands filled with the grizzly reminders of the plague that wiped out its inhabitants. But he let her take the mission. Having something to do might take her mind off the events at Redcliffe, and she would need all her focus to tackle the Breach.

Cullen could easily sympathise with her need to keep busy. His headaches had compounded irregular shooting pains down his spine and legs, but he was able to endure it well enough. The work of integrating the mages into the Inquisition’s existing forces kept _him_ busy – the mages would almost double their numbers. Between finding the food and space for them all and planning their “attack” on the Breach, he was as busier than ever until the day of the assault arrived.

The Herald returned late one afternoon, Blackwall, Solas, and Sera in tow, all of them muddy to waist height. Cullen caught her eye as the party reached Haven’s gate, and she gave him a smile and a wave. There was no sign of the terror he had seen in her the night after she returned from Redcliffe. He returned the gesture and felt some of the ever-present tension leave his shoulders.

With crunching boots in the snow and the stiff rustle of a salute, “Commander, a report from Quartermaster Threnn about the mages’ accommodations.”

Cullen suppressed a sigh and took the report, another addition to his now truly neglected pile of paperwork.

* * *

 

After supper that evening, Josephine rounded up Cullen, Cassandra, and Leliana into the war room to brief the Herald on their finalised strategy for the attempt at closing the Breach. Cassandra and Solas would accompany the Herald, along with the most accomplished mages, into the Temple. Cullen would send a squadron of soldiers, mostly templars, to remain outside as support should anything go wrong. The possibilities of what “going wrong” could mean were alarmingly endless.

“The best of the mages are ready, Herald. Be certain you are prepared for the assault on the Breach. We cannot know how you will be affected,” Cullen warned.

She looked at him carefully as he spoke. “I’m as prepared as I’ll ever be, Commander.”

“Well, I think that is everything?” Josephine rose from her seat.

“Yes,” Cassandra said. “We set out tomorrow morning, Herald?”

The Herald seemed caught off guard by the Seeker’s deference. “I uh, yes. That  _was_  the plan?”

“It was.” Cassandra confirmed with a slight smirk.

“Best of luck to you all.” Josephine wished as she left the war room, Leliana and Cassandra behind her. Cullen, from the other side of the war table, hurried to catch up with the Herald before she followed them.

“Herald, a moment? If-”

She stopped with her hand on the door, looking at him expectantly, and he realised he didn’t know what he had intended to say. Was she feeling better? How would she cope with the attempt at closing the Breach? Did  _she_ think she could do it? What in the Void was going to become of them all?

“You, ah…” He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ignore the heat rising in his face. He told himself he didn’t want to embarrass her by bringing up her struggles.

_Just spit it out._

“How are you?”

She smiled. “I’ll be alright.” She held his gaze for a moment before looking at her feet.  _Remembering?_

“Ah… good.”

 _She doesn’t need me tonight_. _‘I’ll be alright.’_

He cleared his throat. “You’d better get some sleep before the morning.”

She chuckled. “Don’t I know it? You look like you could use a good night’s sleep yourself, Commander.”

He wouldn’t. Especially not tonight, of all nights. He would put off sleep as long as possible, falling into his cot only when his eyes refused to stay open, hoping the nightmare wouldn’t wake him until a decent hour. But he appreciated her concern.

They walked slowly out of the chantry together, chatting about how long he had been away from Ferelden, their favourite parts of the Free Marches, and awful Fereldan weather. He left her at her cottage door like on that windy night a week before, but this time it felt like progress and hope had replaced desperation and fear.

* * *

 

Cullen watched the mages, soldiers, Solas, Cassandra, and the Herald set off to the Temple of Sacred Ashes the next morning, ignoring the insistent feeling he should follow. He settled down in his tent instead, resolving to make a dent in the mound of paperwork piled on his desk. He struggled through a few reports without incident, but it wasn’t long before the pain in his muscles and the fear in his belly had him looking up through the canvas walls, checking if the green glow of the breach was still visible. Halfway through a report for Josephine, he could stand it no longer.

He marched out of his tent, the flap beating in the wind, and drew his sword. He targeted a training dummy that let him face  _away from the Blighted thing_ and tore into its compliant flanks.

After a few minutes the pain of exercise was stronger than the need for lyrium in his muscles. A few minutes more and the clarity of practiced exhaustion almost allowed him to stop thinking about what would happen if the Herald couldn’t close the Breach, or what the power of it might do to her.

“Bahaha, yeah! Get in there, Cullen! Show that dummy who’s boss!” Iron Bull yelled from behind him.

Cullen barely heard him over the thunk of his sword and the rush of his breath. He kept at it until his technique was sloppy and his sword needed sharpening. He sheathed his weapon and stretched out his arms with a grunt.

Head clear, he thought be might _just_ be able to stomach finishing that report when the training yard in front of him was lit up by a flash of green like lightening. He spun around towards the Breach, but it was nowhere to be seen. Blessed, all-encompassing _relief_ flooded him.

“She’s done it,” he whispered to himself. Cullen felt a small glimmer of pride in his chest. It was the first time he had felt _proud_ in years. Joyous shouts began to rise up from the village as people spilled outside to look up at the sky.

Someone slapped him on the back. “Congratulations, Commander!” Laughed Rylen. “All that’s left to do now is celebrate!”

A bark of a laugh was Cullen’s reply. He followed Rylen to the tavern.

* * *

 

The Singing Maiden was packed with soldiers, pilgrims, and villagers. Flissa had made ale free for the occasion and there was no lack of demand. After one or two drinks’ time someone outside shouted, “It’s the Herald!” and Cullen’s heart leapt into his throat. They all spilled out into the village to catch a glimpse of their saviour. Cassandra walked close in front of her, forging a path through the crowd up to the chantry.

 _She’s fine_. Cullen felt his second wave of relief for the night and followed the crowd back into the tavern for another round with his men.

He thought he ought to head up to the war room to debrief with the others, but decided to first check in with Captain Roland, who had led the Inquisition’s soldiers to the Temple. As he exited the gates of Haven, he had to stop suddenly to avoid walking into a watch guard, out of breath and in a hurry.

“Commander! There’s a huge army approaching from the north.”

“ _What?_ ” Cullen snapped.

“Over the mountain.” The guard paused for breath.

“How many?”

“Some thousands, Ser.”

“Did you see a banner?”

“No, Ser, no banner.”

_Maker’s breath._

Cullen marched to the training yard. “Inquisition! We’re under attack!” He yelled. “To arms! Sound the bells!” Startled soldiers and mages sprang to attention, armour abandoned and weapons out of sight. He prayed that he had had time to train them well enough for whatever was to come. Heading back to the village, he cursed.

 _Where is Rylen_?

He slammed open the tavern door, ignoring the shocked stares of the patrons, and spotted Rylen sitting at the bar.

“Rylen, we’re under attack,” Cullen said, not bothering to keep his voice down. “I need you and your men outside the walls.”

Rylen slopped ale down his front and the people around them responded with a mix of gasps and jumping into action.

“Yes, Commander!”

He rose to his feet. “You heard him, men! Haven is under attack!”

The soldiers in the room all stood to attention and began spilling out the doors while panic set in for the civilians.

“The rest of you, head to the chantry! You will be safest there.” Cullen called to them. Highest ground, furthest from the walls, and sturdy; the chantry would be the villagers’ best defence against enemy soldiers or artillery fire. Once the tavern was empty, he rushed outside to alert any more soldiers and direct the other villagers to safety.

The bells were finally ringing. “Forces approaching! To arms!” He shouted into the main square, the revellers there running in every direction. “Soldiers, to the walls! Everyone else, get into the chantry!” Josephine and Leliana were running towards him and together they headed down toward the gates for any villagers outside, herding the panicked populace as best they could.

Cassandra and the Herald approached them seconds later, Varric and Dorian close behind.

“Cullen?” Cassandra demanded, her question not needing any more elaboration.

“One watch guard reporting. There’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asked.

“None.”

Josephine looked incredulous. “None?”

Something banged against the gates with a flash of red light, rattling them on their hinges, and Cullen reached for his sword.

From behind the gates a voice called, “I can’t come in unless you open!” The Herald ran to the gates and the guard opened them cautiously just in time for them to see a Venatori brute with two daggers embedded in his breastplate.

The Herald ran out of the gate,  _toward_  whatever had killed the brute, and Cullen followed, sword drawn. They stopped in front of a slim young man wearing a very large hat.

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you. To help. People are coming to hurt you. You… probably already know,” said the boy.

“What _is_  this? What’s going on?” The Herald pleaded. Cullen stood ready to attack should this person attempt to strike her.

“The templars come to kill you.”

Cullen’s throat tightened. “Templars?” He shouted at the boy, who flinched away. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The red templars went to the Elder One.” Cole said to the Herald.

Cullen’s heart dropped into his stomach.  _The Elder One, who would command a demon army that covers all Thedas if we failed_. _But we closed the breach_ … He looked at the Herald, probing for any signs of fear, but her face was like stone.

“You know him, he knows you. You took his mages. There.” Cole pointed to a crag in the distance and Cullen strained to see.

“Who is this Elder One?” Cullen mumbled as a hideous, deformed figure infested with red lyrium rose out of a dark cloud behind a human lieutenant, and his jaw dropped.

 _Samson_.

“He is very angry you took his mages.” Cole said darkly.

“Cullen!” The Herald turned to him, animated again. “Give me a plan. Anything!” She pleaded.

Rylen had assembled the mages and soldiers and was standing at attention in the training yard.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster we  _must_  control the battle. Get out there and hit that force.” He pointed to the trebuchets nearby and to the north. “Use everything you can.”

He looked into her eyes for a moment and saw she understood, before he turned to those assembled in the training yard and raised his sword.

“Mages! You have sanction to engage them. That is Samson, he will  _not_  make it easy. Inquisition, with the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

As the red templars crested the hill, he stood ready for battle. But Leliana said to him, “We  _must_  look after the people, ensure that they are all safe. Rylen will lead the battle.” She was right. He tore himself away from the sight of the Herald nocking her first arrow and ushered Josephine, Leliana, and Cole inside the gates.

Cullen checked the tents in the main square of the village and a number of houses, shepherding stragglers up the hill toward the chantry. He was helping a mother and her frightened children to a seat inside when a low, loud rumbling rolled through the building. He and others rushed outside to the awe-inspiring sight of the Frostbacks shedding their heavy coat of snow and ice, burying their approaching enemies.

The villagers let out a cheer. The trebuchets were far more effective than he expected – triggering a distant avalanche was genius, and he suspected the Herald had something to do with it. That move may have wiped out nearly all of the red templars in a single stroke.

_We’ve won._

Heart lighter, Cullen began to head toward the gates to rendezvous with Rylen and the soldiers, but with a roar from the Void, his idea of victory was instantly on shaky ground. A huge ball of fire materialised in the sky and shot down toward of the north trebuchet – _did it hit?_ He squinted at the sky and discerned a huge black shape moving in front of the clouds.

 _A… dragon?_ _Maker, please no._

He ran.

Cullen burst out of the gates and shouted to the mages and soldiers outside. “Inside, inside!” He shouted to Rylen. “Get everyone inside! Now!”

“Aye, Commander! Inquisition, into the village!”

Cullen searched the dark landscape for Cassandra or the Herald, but they were nowhere to be seen. The last of the soldiers rushed through the gates as the dragon let loose another fireball, this time at the training yard. Destruction was absolute. The tents burned, lighting the scene.

Finally the Herald came into view.

“Herald!” He held the gate open for her and a final straggling soldier. “Move, move!”

Cassandra, Varric, and Dorian sprinted through the gates after them and Cullen finally pulled the gate shut.

“We need everyone back to the chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast!”

No, they had  _not_  won. This changed everything. The chantry might have withstood the attempts of foot soldiers and perhaps even the fire of distant siege weapons, but the village was already aflame. Cullen could see no way they could fight the dragon, no way out of this. The beast would burn every building, obliterate every Inquisition soldier, and the remaining red templar army would face no resistance. There would be no one _to_ resist them.

_This is the end of the Inquisition._

Cullen’s mind fell into a distantly familiar calmness. The futility of the battle removed any use for panic, automatic tactical analysis all that was left. No one would survive, but the chantry could let them live just a little longer.

The Herald and her party swept to the north to search for any survivors while Cullen went to the south. He found no one except a young elf boy, cowering in the corner of his burning home. He picked the boy up and carried him up the slope, catching glimpses of red templars entering the village through the now-ruined walls.

The dragon continued its barrage, setting the wooden houses of Haven alight. He reached the stone chantry to see none other than Chancellor Roderick, incredibly beating a red templar over the head with a wooden chair. Cullen almost laughed at the sight of it but for the blossom of crimson spreading through the Chancellor’s robes.

“Get inside, Chancellor!” Cullen ordered.

He set about reuniting the boy with his family in one of the side chambers, regretting how little time they had left together.

The Herald and her party had finally made it back when he returned to the main hall, bringing a few villagers with them. He jogged towards her.

“Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

The strange boy, Cole, was crouching next to a chair where the Chancellor now sat, his breaths shallow. “I’ve seen an archdemon.”  _An archdemon?_  “I was in the fade, but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like!” Cullen spat. “It’s cut a path for that army! They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald!”

Cullen’s guts lurched.

_What enemy sends an army for one person?_

“Why? Why does he want  _me_?” The Herald took a deep breath, thinking. “If it will save these people, he can have me.”

“It won’t,” Cole said. “He wants to kill you. No one else matters but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t-“ Cullen began incredulously, but he gave up on the boy and turned back to the Herald. “Herald. There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche.” He watched her eyes as he spoke, wary of the fear he’d already seen there.

She thought. “We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide?”

“But… we’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.” No terror in her eyes, just  _questions_.

Cullen took a deep breath. “We’re dying. But  _we_  can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.”

The Herald looked shocked and was speechless for a moment. She opened her mouth to reply, but Cole spoke first.

“Yes,  _that_. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

 _Can he… read thoughts? What_ is _he?_

“There is a path,” the Chancellor rasped. “You wouldn’t know it, unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.”

Cullen hardly dared to hope.

“The people  _can_  escape. She must have shown me, Andraste must have shown me so I could… tell you.”

“What do you mean, Roderick?” The Herald asked, gentle but impatient.

“It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start – it was overgrown…” Roderick paused for breath. “Now, with so many in the conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know. If this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident.  _You_  could be more.”

The numb of hopelessness slipped at this revelation. There was hope, and with hope, there could be failure. Cullen’s pulse quickened, his breath became shallow. With hope there was fear.

The Herald turned to Cullen, ever unsure. “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

“Possibly, _if_  he shows us the path.” He fought to keep his voice steady. “But what of your escape?”

She turned away from him, and he knew it was the only way.

“Perhaps… you will surprise it, find a way?”

He left her, ignoring the leaden feeling in his abdomen and the tremor in his legs, and strode quickly to two soldiers down the hall.

“Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the chantry. Move!” They nodded and ran off to alert the townspeople. He rounded up a small group of soldiers and shouted his orders at them, too. Shouting helped.

“Load the north trebuchet and return here at once. Go!” The soldiers jogged past the Herald and out of the chantry.

He walked back to her. She was still facing away from him; maybe he could speak to her back without crumbling.

“Soldiers are loading the trebuchet. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. We will send up a signal.”

She started out the door without a word and Cullen resisted the urge to stop her.

“If they are to have a chance… if  _you_  are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

He watched her walk away from him, praying it wouldn’t be the last time.

* * *

 

The villagers, pilgrims, soldiers, and mages climbed through the grate in the roof of Haven’s chantry basement. They went in single file up the ladder, painfully slowly, but the chantry doors remained unbreached. Only Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine remained there, waiting for a sign that Cassandra, the Herald, Dorian and Varric would return. Finally, the chantry doors opened and they hurried to usher their friends through, or to defend the chantry from the red templars, whoever it turned out to be. Thankfully, it was the former.

Cullen’s skin prickled when he saw the Herald was not with them.

“The Herald?” Josephine asked.

Cassandra was furious. “She is with the Elder One and his  _archdemon_.”

“There was nothing we could do, Seeker.” Varric said to her gently. “She told us to go. There’s no sense in all of us-“

Cassandra pushed him against a pillar, his lapels tight in her grip. “I would  _rather_  die than leave her to that _monster_!” She shouted.

Cullen and Leliana leapt forward to pull her off the dwarf.

“The archdemon got between us and the Herald,” Dorian explained. “She was beyond our help.”

Cassandra let go of Varric and shrugged out of her captors’ hands, breathing heavily.

“Let’s go,” she declared, without a look back.

She stalked down to the basement and the others followed her. They left the rough rope ladder hanging from the grate that led to the path out of Haven, not really believing anyone would follow.

The group trekked as quickly as possible through the sparse trees along the snow-covered path up the mountain, ushering the slowest of the villagers up to the treeline. When they reached it, Cullen turned to the mage.

“Dorian, can you send up a signal?”

Dorian obliged, shooting a burst of red sparks into the sky from the tip of his staff.

Cullen looked down at the smouldering wreckage of Haven, trying and failing to make out the shape of the great dragon in the glowing smoke. They waited there for a moment, but there was nothing, and they were silent as they turned to continue the trek up the mountain. They didn’t have time to mourn yet.

But a deep thunder reverberated underfoot. Cullen whipped around to catch the adjacent mountain’s payload dropping, appearing to move slowly in its bulk.

“She’s done it!” He cried.

“Quickly, we have to move!” Leliana urged, as the mountain shook under their feet. They scrambled over the ridge, at last feeling like the enemy could not follow them.

But the Herald would not follow, either.

* * *

 

They set up camp in a long, shallow basin after regrouping with the rest of the Inquisition. Word of what had happened quickly spread through the camp, inevitably distorted by the myths surrounding the Herald: she had destroyed the enemy with an avalanche, sacrificing herself to save them all. So was the Maker’s will.

“We should wait here for as long as possible,” said Cassandra, her voice hard. “The Herald may yet follow us, and she would be able to see us from afar.”

Cullen could hardly let himself hope. He threw himself into work, debriefing with Rylen, counting losses, assisting injured soldiers.

They had stayed only an hour before the wind began to pick up and light snow blew across the basin.

“Commander, we must move on.” Rylen said to him. “None of us will survive if we get stuck in a blizzard.”

He was right, and Cullen knew it.

_She’s not coming._

He kept his grief shoved down and ordered the men to pack up their tents before assisting Leliana and Josephine with getting the villagers ready to leave. Cassandra was nowhere to be seen.

“Where is the Seeker?” Cullen asked Leliana.

“She’s gone back to look for the Herald.”

“What is she  _thinking_? We have to move on!”

“You’re welcome to be the one to fetch her.”

Cullen scowled and trudged off into the falling snow after the Seeker.

_How could she be so foolish? Wasting time on… hopeless. It’s hopeless. We have to move on._

He found her shouting the Herald’s name into the gathering wind a few hundred yards away.

“Seeker, we  _must_  leave,” he called to her through the wind.

“She could be right behind us! If we just wait-“

“ _No_!” Cullen shouted. His pain mutated into anger and he channelled it at her. “If we wait much longer there will be no one left alive for her to find! Would you want to have all of us die?”

She was silent, and Cullen regretted his words immediately.

“Seeker, we have hundreds of people depending on us to lead them to safety. If El-“ his voice caught in his throat, her name getting stuck. “If she lives, she will know to follow us. We cannot let the Inquisition fail now, not after we’ve come so far.”

Cassandra’s shoulders slumped. “You’re right.”

She trudged through the gathering snow to their people, and Cullen followed.

“When we set up camp again, I will…”  _Maker help me_. “I will help you look for her.”

“Thank you, Cullen.”

* * *

 

They found a sheltered slope out of the wind to make camp after an hour or so of walking. Once Cullen had delayed it by a plausible amount of time ordering the troops around, he made good on his promise to help Cassandra look for the Herald. He dreaded it. They would wander around uselessly in the snow, calling her name to the wind, and no one would answer.

She was gone.

Cullen was not a man to bottle up his feelings; he would grieve for the Herald in time. But there was no time for grief while they were stuck traversing the Frostbacks with no idea where to head.

He ordered a few soldiers to search in each direction and another couple to follow himself and the Seeker. They climbed back up the way they had come hours before, boots sinking deep into the snow.

“Elowen!” Cassandra shouted. No one answered.

They hiked onwards until they could see the top of the hill. Cullen was watching where he was putting his feet, but his head jerked back up when he thought he glimpsed a figure coming over the top of the slope.

 _No_.

“Is that…“

_Don’t hope._

The figure struggled closer on unsteady feet. A woman.

“There! It’s her!” He barked. She collapsed to her knees and Cullen ran to her. Her face was pale and her lips the wrong colour. Her eyes were barely open, ringed by eyelashes coated in ice. Cullen hoisted her into his arms as Cassandra reached them.

“Thank the Maker!” Cassandra sighed. “We must get her to the camp. Hurry!”

Cullen obliged, descending the hill as quickly as he could behind Cassandra without jostling the Herald.

“C-Cullen…” she murmured, barely audible over the sounds of their movement.

“I’ve got you,” he said quietly, but her eyes had closed.

He had never heard her say his name before.

The buzz of the camp fell silent as the people saw their Herald return. Cassandra cut a path through the crowd as Cullen tried to protect her from their stares. He placed her gently on a spare cot close to a fire as the healers descended on her.

Cullen stalked straight to his tent, sat on his own cot, and buried his face in his hands.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition's dire circumstances cause Elowen to accidentally step into the Inquisitor's uncomfortable boots.

Elowen

Elowen awoke in an unfamiliar bed feeling deliciously warm. She looked around her for a moment, searching for anything she recognised.

“You’re safe now,” said Mother Giselle’s voice next to her. “You need rest.”

Elowen acquiesced and fell into a deep sleep. When she awoke again, it was to the raised voices of the Inquisition’s leaders. She struggled to remember how she got to the strange tent. What was the last thing she remembered?

_Closing the breach… Haven was attacked. By… red templars?_

_And the Elder One._

A rush of fear rolled down her body. She woke up properly that time.

Her heart beat harder as the memories grew clearer through the fog of sleep. She remembered triggering an avalanche, destroying Haven once she saw the promised signal; miraculously escaping through an icy, demon-infested tunnel; and staggering into a blizzard searching for any sign of the Inquisition… for any sign of her friends.

Despite their interrupting her sleep with their fruitless argument, all she could feel now was affection and gratitude – they must have saved her – for the leaders of the Inquisition. Not that she hadn’t _already_ felt affection for them. Cassandra had been her frequent companion on several missions, and they had spent days together. Elowen had come to look up to the Seeker like one of her sisters. Josephine was always kind to her without being condescending and Elowen wished she could get to know her better. Leliana still scared her a little, but not as much as she had at first. And Cullen… yes. Even him.

She had been intimidated by him at first, tall and proud, practiced posture in his gleaming armour. The way he directed the Inquisition’s forces showed a self-assurance Elowen had never experienced herself. But her experiences at Redcliffe had messed up her sense of fear. Her own memories scared her more than anything else. Then he held her close and told her she could close the Breach, and he had been right. The Commander didn’t intimidate her anymore. He was just a man… a man who made her feel almost like she might be all that people whispered she was.

She sat up in her cot and saw Mother Giselle was still watching over her.

Elowen had rested enough. Time was wasting. Talking wouldn’t help them achieve their goals… although Elowen wasn’t sure what exactly those goals were.

“They’ve been at it for hours,” she complained to Giselle.

“They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this ‘Corypheus.’”

“I wish they could just work together. There’s no need for this fighting.”

“Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand and fall. And now we have seen her return.”

_Fall? Return?_

“I escaped the avalanche. Barely, perhaps, but I didn’t die.”

“Of course, and the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But the people know what they saw, or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

Elowen was taken aback. Surely the Maker does not work in such underhanded ways, in ways so open to misinterpretation and distortion? She attempted to view their situation objectively.

“Mother Giselle, I just don’t see why what we believe matters. Corypheus is a real, physical threat. We can’t match that with faith alone.”

She stretched her bruised legs out from the cot and stood up decisively, if unsteadily. Her limbs were heavy, one arm more than the other, and she suspected it had been broken and healed again during the events of the night. The leaders had finally gone silent, awkwardly milling about the fire. Doing _nothing._

The desperation of their predicament was clear to her now. Where could they go? With no Chantry support and no strong allies in Ferelden or Orlais there was no particular destination open to them. She wasn’t even sure if they knew where they  _were_ , let alone where they were going.

Then, behind her, Mother Giselle’s low voice was reciting a hymn. The old sound comforted Elowen and she listened, recalling the peace of her family chapel in Ostwick. Tense indecision was replaced by soft reverence. Then Leliana began to sing with a voice like a bell, and soon others were calling out all around.

Villagers, pilgrims, and soldiers gathered around her, some of them saluting her, others dropping to their knees. She would have felt uncomfortable under their adoring gazes were it not for the soothing familiarity of the song, and she tried to receive them with grace despite her confusion.

She was glad when it was over.

“An army needs more than an enemy,” Mother Giselle said in a low voice. “It needs a call.”

 _Alright, Mother, you’ve made your point_.

As the people went mercifully back to their business, she heard Solas’s voice in her ear.

“A word.”

It felt like she hadn’t seen him in days and she fought back the urge to hug the elf. She didn’t think he would be the hugging type.

Solas explained that the orb Corypheus carried was of elven origin and that its malfunction had likely been the cause of the conclave explosion. He seemed to fear that elves would yet again become a scapegoat in the battle against Corypheus, and Elowen promised to keep the orb’s origin quiet. He suggested that she attempt to lead the Inquisition to an abandoned fortress in the Orlesian Frostbacks.

“Solas, that’s not just a distraction. That’s a solution to our problems here.”

He smiled. “Perhaps it is.”

“The leaders of the Inquisition need to know about this. Come with me?”

They approached Cassandra, who was puzzling over a map of the area.

“Cassandra, Solas tells me there is an ancient fortress in the mountains, not too far from here. Perhaps we could seek it out?”

Cassandra narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “How do you know of this, Solas?”

“It is built on a ritual site used by the ancient elves. I have passed it during my travels, and learned of its past inhabitants during my journeys into the fade.”

Cassandra considered his explanation for a moment. Looking satisfied, she said, “It’s better than nothing, which is what we have at the moment.” She turned to Elowen. “Come. We will discuss this with the others.”

Elowen and Cassandra took the idea to Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana. Finally, with some gentle pushing from Elowen, the leaders of the Inquisition could agree on seeking out the fortress.

“I’ll send out scouts in the morning to find passage through the mountains,” said the Commander. “Do we have any idea of the direction of this fortress?”

Elowen hesitated. “Might _I_ lead the scouts, Commander? With Solas’s guidance, we should be able to reach it within a few days.”

The Commander looked concerned. “Herald, are you sure you should be-“

“Why shouldn’t she?” Cassandra demanded. “I can think of no one more able. She has taken charge on several missions into Ferelden and Orlais and not led us astray.”

Elowen felt her face heat at the praise.

“I was merely concerned about the Herald’s health, Seeker.” The Commander said quietly. “I am sure the scouts would be honoured to follow your lead, Herald.”

* * *

 

Elowen spent the following days clambering up mountains and searching for passes that would let them travel north. The scouts would then investigate any potential routes, and when the chosen path was declared safe, they would lead the rest of the Inquisition through. Despite their desperate situation, she trusted Solas’s advice. What’s more, the exercise and the views of the majestic Frostbacks was exhilarating. Elowen was beginning to feel a little proud of herself. Not too long ago, she was waking up sore from long walks and struggling to make it through a single battle. Scouting in the mountains, she revelled in her now-quick movements and endurance. When she had first joined the Inquisition (not that she had had much of a choice) it was terrifying, and she had yearned to be able to return home. Now, she could hardly imagine going back to her old life in Ostwick.

On the second day of their trek through the mountains, she had fallen into step beside the Commander. They had been getting along well recently, she thought, but she was still a little nervous to talk to him. He was always so  _busy_. Surely she would only be a nuisance.

He spoke first.

“How are you feeling today, Herald?”

“I am well, Commander. Although the way the pilgrims look at me these days is a little unnerving.”

He chuckled. “I can imagine. But they  _did_  see you come back from the dead. It was hard on…” he paused. “Many of us.”

When she didn’t reply, he cleared his throat. “But I meant to say… are you alright? After the battle, and the mountains…”

“Oh, yes. The healers said I should be fine after some rest.”

“I’m glad.”

They lapsed into silence. Thinking about that night, she realised she didn’t remember quite how she had met up with the Inquisition, and decided to ask him.

“Mother Giselle told me that you and Cassandra found me.”

“Yes, we did.”

“I don’t remember it. Was it far from the camp?”

“No, you were not far behind us, but a snowstorm had set in, and you must have been caught in it.”

“I’m glad you were looking for me. Otherwise I might have passed out and died, tragically, so close to the camp!”

She had meant to make a joke, but his look told her she had hit close to the truth.

“I didn’t think…” He seemed to struggle with what to say.

As Elowen waited for him to speak, her eyes wandered to the dark mantle he always wore over his armour, and she remembered the snow glowing with firelight in the distance, the hope in her heart and the numbness in her body, then  _his_  voice, soft fur and hard steel pressing against her face.

“I think I just… did you  _carry_  me?” She asked, needing to know if these memories reflected reality or were a product of exposure-induced delirium.

“Yes,” he confirmed, and she was mildly pleased with herself. “You remember?”

“Not really. I… I must have been in pretty bad shape.”

“You were cold as ice,” he murmured.

They avoided each other’s eyes, instead focusing on where they were putting their feet. Elowen was uncomfortable with the thought of how close she had been to death, but the thought of strong arms carrying her back to her friends took the edge off.

“Elowen, there’s a slope up ahead that should give a good view to the north.” Solas’s voice ended the awkward pause and Elowen excused herself from the Commander to scramble up the snowy ledge with the elf.

Her eyes widened as she reached the top: below them was a massive castle, all towering ramparts and sturdy towers, perched high on a rocky crag above a glacier. It looked  _impenetrable_.

Elowen beamed at Solas.

“Skyhold,” he explained, and she really did hug him that time.

“Solas, I think you’ve saved the Inquisition.”

“Me? You are the one who led them here.”

“ _You’re_ the one who told us about it! I could not very well lead them here without knowing what I was leading them  _to_ , could I?”

“That is irrelevant. The people have watched you scout ahead and they will watch you walk through the gates to claim the keep. They will remember stories and reputations because that is all they ever knew.”

Elowen blinked, uncomfortable at the implications of his words. He was right. The pilgrims that had been flowing in to Haven to see the “Herald of Andraste” had come because of the legend that Andraste had sent her to perform the Maker’s will, not because they actually knew anything about Elowen herself. Solas’s role in the journey to Skyhold would not be told in the stories that would reach Orlais and Ferelden and beyond.

If this was how the Inquisition would be remembered, distorted into the story that people wanted to hear, how could anyone know the truth about the ancient history of the Elves or the Tevinter Imperium? About Andraste herself?

She shook her head as if that would clear it.

 _Now is_ not _the time, Elowen._

“ _I_  am grateful to you, Solas.” He inclined his head in response and Elowen hurried back down the slope to direct the scouts into the pass.

* * *

 

They set up camp on the banks of the glacier for a night, before venturing up to explore the keep. Skyhold was magnificent, if dilapidated, and it provided much-needed shelter from the harsh mountain winds. To Elowen’s surprise (and embarrassment), the number of pilgrims arriving each day only increased upon their arrival at the fortress in the middle of nowhere. These feelings reached a peak when she was, seemingly unanimously, dubbed “Inquisitor.” Apparently everyone except Elowen had thought this inevitable. She could only respond with something along the lines of, “I will do this because it is right,” before the Commander whipped the rest of the Inquisition into a frenzy of cheers. She threw the gigantic sword they had given her into the air, her arm wobbling, hoping she looked the part.

_All I have done until this point is to try to do the right thing. All I can do now is continue to try._

After half a day’s planning with her advisors in the new war room, and an hour or so of chatting with Dorian in the tower’s surprisingly well-preserved library, Elowen set about indulging her need to explore the rest of the giant castle. Much of it was inaccessible due to collapses, but there was plenty of room for the time being: a great hall, a proper kitchen, dungeons, and a mysterious undercroft where Harrit had staked a claim.

She found Vivienne, Cassandra, and Solas arguing about Cole at the base of the stone stairs in the courtyard. Vivienne was convinced he was a demon, but Solas said he was a unique spirit that had somehow been able to leave the fade. Elowen was inclined to believe Solas, but spoke to Cole himself before making any declarations. After stopping him from putting a wounded soldier out of his misery, she eventually invited him to remain with the Inquisition, hoping she would not regret it.

So many choices were now Elowen’s to make, people’s actual, _real_ lives hanging on her words. The future she saw at Redcliffe seemed to be up to  _her_  to prevent. She mentally chastised herself for thinking of Redcliffe: she had managed to pretend she’d forgotten it after the destruction of Haven, an experience that she had handled, conversely, relatively well. But she hadn’t forgotten, not really. Images of Leliana’s scarred face floated to the front of her mind and her heart began to race, stomach to churn.

_A distraction._

She spotted the Commander standing behind a makeshift desk in the courtyard, surrounded by soldiers. He was giving orders just like he had in Haven, busy and fastidious and _commanding_. Like nothing had changed.

She walked over to him slowly, not wanting to interrupt his work, but he turned to face her as she got closer.

“We set up as best we could at Haven,” he said, looking exhausted. He rubbed his neck as if it were bothering him. “We could never prepare for an archdemon – or  _whatever_  it was. With some warning, we might have…”

_Is he serious?_

Did he think they could have possibly been victorious against Corypheus at Haven, under  _any_  circumstances?

“Do you  _ever_  sleep?”

He ignored her question. “If Corypheus strikes again, we may not be able to withdraw… I wouldn’t want to,” he added quietly. “We  _must_  be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway, guard rotations established. We should have everything on course within the week. We will  _not_  run from here, Inquisitor.”

There was that passion again. When he spoke like that, she could believe they would succeed. She needed more of that.

“How many were lost?” Elowen asked.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

 _This was supposed to be a distraction_.

She took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

“Everyone has so much faith in my leadership. I hope I’m ready.”

“You won’t have to carry the Inquisition alone. Although, it must feel like it. We needed a leader. You have proven yourself.”

He sounded so sure.

“Thank you, Cullen.”

The right side of his mouth turned up in a half-smile that transformed the fading churning of her stomach into butterflies. She was not sure if that was any better.  He had given her that smile once before, and it had confused her so much she decided to ask if templars  _like him_  took vows of chastity.

 _I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford_.

“The escape from Haven… it was close.”  _So far, so good._  “I’m relieved that you…”  _Shit, no._  “That  _so many_  made it here safely,” she flailed.

“As am I,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off hers. He stepped toward her and she imagined him reaching out to her like he had on the jetty at Haven. “You stayed behind. You could have… I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

“I…” Her brain failed to conjure up an appropriate response. He was too close. She could smell the leather of his armour and all she could think about was how warm his arms had felt around her.

“Thank you, Commander.” She ended feebly and hurried away, hoping she looked busy instead of flustered.

_I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen's lyrium withdrawals only get worse as the Inquisition settles into Skyhold, and Dorian's trip to the Gull and Lantern in Redcliffe with the Inquisitor leads to a misunderstanding.

Cullen

Under Elowen Trevelyan's leadership, the repairs on Skyhold were continuing apace and the Inquisition’s army swelled more with each day. Cullen could no longer consider managing their growing forces personally, which he enjoyed conceptually. Practically, though, it meant he spent most of his time in his newly-habitable office, directing his officers to execute operations he wished he had the time to participate in.

He was bent over a small map the Inquisition’s scouts had drawn of the area around Skyhold when a scout placed yet more paperwork on his desk. “Report for you, Commander.”

“Thank you…” he looked up to check the identity of the scout, “Lara.”

She gave a salute and left. Cullen reached for the report, intending to place it at the bottom of the pile of papers that had accumulated since the morning, when he recognised the Inquisitor’s handwriting. He began to read it.

_To Leliana, Josephine, and Commander Cullen,_

_We met Hawke’s Warden ally, a Jean-Marc Stroud, near Crestwood. The Wardens have apparently all begun to hear the call of the Archdemon, with few exceptions (Blackwall thankfully among them). What’s more, Warden-Commander Clarel is summoning all Wardens to Orlais to undergo some sort of blood magic ritual in a desperate attempt to end all blights. Stroud believes Corypheus may be manipulating the Wardens by mimicking the Calling. I have agreed to help Stroud and Hawke look into the matter in Orlais, but we have decided to help the people of Crestwood first: the village is besieged by undead that look to be coming from a rift in the lake. Expect us back at Skyhold within the fortnight._

_I remain sincerely yours,_

_Inquisitor Elowen Trevelyan_

Cullen slumped back against his chair. First the templars, now the Grey Wardens. How far would Corypheus’s influence reach?

His shoulder muscles contracted, as the now ever-present pain in his body seemed to react to his thoughts. He wondered how much longer he would have to endure this. No one had documented the progression of a templar’s lyrium withdrawals in detail, leaving Cullen unaware of exactly what to expect. They had secured a supply of lyrium for the Inquisition’s mages and templars, and it was a constant source of temptation to him, but he had resisted so far. Nevertheless he kept his old box of lyrium paraphernalia in a drawer in his desk. He feared the day may come when he could no longer withstand the effects of withdrawal and would have to either resign from his duties as Commander or finally give in to his weakness. Either possibility disgusted him. But Cassandra had promised to watch for signs of confusion or dementia and to find a replacement for him, should it come to that. That was some small comfort.

He deliberately put these thoughts out of his mind and returned his focus to his work. Despite all the paperwork, there was nothing he would rather do than command the Inquisition’s army, and he was determined to do it to the best of his ability.

He glanced at the Inquisitor’s report and was reminded of her. She had settled into her new role quickly after the escape from Haven, and had only become more legendary in the eyes of their follwers. Although he would never say it to her face, Cullen found it hard not to see her as something of a miracle, as well.

He was wracked by another flash of pain as he turned his attention back to the map. So far, he and the Seeker were the only ones who knew he was no longer taking lyrium. If the pain were to get much worse…

He resolved to inform the Inquisitor upon her return to Skyhold.

* * *

 

Cullen watched the Inquisitor and her party walk along the bridge to Skyhold from his office window. He had received a message from Rylen two days earlier reporting unexpected numbers of travellers into the Western Approach of Orlais. He had no information on whether these travellers were Grey Wardens, but Cullen had his suspicions. He brought the report to the obligatory war council meeting called shortly after the Inquisitor arrived.

She read the report, brow furrowing. “I agree, Commander – and even if we are wrong, an Inquisition presence in the west would be useful to us. How do you think we should approach this?”

“I recommended immediate deployment of troops. Rylen should be able to secure a position within the week, all going well.”

With Leliana and Josephine’s agreement, Cullen returned to his office and wrote up the report to send to Rylen.

The inevitable shot of pain down his spine reminded him of his intention to speak with the Inquisitor. He asked the messenger who would send off Rylen’s instructions to invite her to meet him in his office.

Cullen attempted to concentrate on his paperwork as he waited for her, but resorted to pacing the floor of his office.

 _Am I_   _nervous?_

He chalked it up to anxiety about keeping his position at first, but the realisation he was worried about what the Inquisitor would think of him was worse. He had thought little of her when they first met, she in chains, assumed by all to be guilty of the Divine’s murder. But she had shown herself to be a strong leader: he was now proud to call her his Inquisitor. She was leading them well, as demonstrated by their swelling army, and Cullen agreed with her on most issues, barring the alliance with the mages. And while he wouldn't exactly call her a friend, they got along well. He liked her. He was ashamed to be admitting his weakness to her. He ignored his nerves; no point dwelling on fears. He had to tell her, and the consequences of that were out of his control.

He returned to his desk, hyperaware of the wooden box within.

 _Nothing more than an old memento_.

He pulled the drawer open despite himself, staring at the box.

 _It’s just an old box_.

He lifted it out gingerly and placed it on the desktop. It was heavier than he remembered.

_How many times have I submitted to this?_

He opened it gently, trying to focus on the carved figure of Andraste.

_I swore I would be free of the Order… Andraste preserve me._

He gripped the edge of the desk, testing his will.

Then, blessedly, she opened the door. He didn’t look up, but he knew the sound of her footsteps.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“As leader of the Inquisition, you…” he paused, wishing the words would come more easily. “There’s something I must tell you.”

The Inquisitor looked at him carefully. “Whatever it is, I’m willing to listen.”

“Right. Thank you.” He could only meet her eyes for a moment. “Lyrium grants templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer – some go mad, others die. We have secured a reliable source for the templars here, but I…”

_Can hardly bear this anymore._

“No longer take it.”

“You stopped?”

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

_And how much longer?_

“Cullen,” despite the alarm in her voice, he recalled her saying his name as he carried her to their camp in the mountains. It sent a tremor down his spine. “If this can kill you…”

“It hasn’t yet.” He stated, surprised at the strength in his own voice. “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t… I will not be bound to the Order – or that life – any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.”

Maybe saying it out loud would help him believe it.

“But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to… watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

He half expected her to demand he resign that moment. He was not sure he would give someone like himself a chance, were he in the Inquisitor’s position. But all he saw in her face was concern.

“Are you in pain?”

“I can endure it.”

_For now._

She winced. “Alright… thank you for telling me. I respect what you’re doing, Cullen.”

 _She said it again_.

“I just… hope you’re alright.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.” He indulged the selfish urge to plead for his position. “The Inquisition’s army must  _always_  take priority. Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.”

“I pray it doesn’t come to that.” She turned toward the door and added quietly, “No one could replace  _you_ , Commander,” and left.

* * *

 

Cullen read Rylen’s update to the war council the day it arrived. He expected his men would have a position secured within the week after driving out a small Venatori camp. Leliana sent word to Lead Scout Harding to prepare to leave for the Western Approach.

“Since there are a few days available before I travel to the Western Approach, I would like to travel to Redcliffe village with Dorian,” the Inquisitor announced.

Cullen was now fairly sure she and Dorian were seeing each other: they had been close since the events at Redcliffe and the Inquisitor seemed to spend all her spare time with the Tevinter mage in the library.

He felt his ears going red. They were free to do whatever they liked in their spare time, of course, but did she have to let everyone at the war council know?

“Of course,” said Leliana knowingly. “Does this relate to the private matter you asked me to look into a few days ago?”

_Maker’s breath, is Leliana privy to their dalliances as well?_

Cullen cleared his throat. “If that is all for today, I will be in my office.”

He left quickly, wishing to hear no more. As much as he respected her, he found the Inquisitor’s lack of professional discretion on this matter somewhat disturbing.

He marched through the great hall, ignoring Varric’s advice to “Smile more, Curly.” As he opened the door to the rookery tower, however, he ran face-first into none other than the blighted Tevinter mage.

“Excuse  _me_ , Commander. I should have bought you dinner first.”

“What? Just… move!” Cullen growled. “ _Please_ ,” he added, remembering himself.

_No need to be uncivil._

Dorian skipped out of the doorway and gestured toward the tower, his stupid little moustache twitching up above a smirk.

“Far be it from  _me_  to hold up the Inquisition’s armies!”

Cullen stalked through the doorway back to the sanctuary of his office, throwing himself into reports and strategising.

_Andraste give me strength._

* * *

 

Cullen barely strayed from his office over the following days, emerging only for meals, training, and to hack into an unlucky training dummy when he had read one too many messages from Josephine mentioning the Inquisitor. He knew he was angry at her behaviour, but also at himself for being so affected by it. Why should he care so much about how she conducts herself? As long as she continued to lead the Inquisition as she had been, he had no right to be concerned.

Cassandra noticed his foul mood but seemed to attribute it to his withdrawals. Cullen was happy to let her believe it, although he was not sure if the truth was better or worse.

The Inquisitor was due back that night and he looked forward to being able to move on with the Grey Warden issue. He needed progress.

Thankfully, he received a report from Rylen that evening confirming that the men now held a secure position in the Western Approach. He penned a response to his second in command before beginning a note for the Inquisitor to accompany the forwarded report.

Cullen slouched back in his chair. It was well past nightfall and working since dawn had done nothing to lessen the need for lyrium in his muscles. He decided a walk along the battlements in the night air would do him good. It did, for a few minutes. The cold countered the hot aches and the quiet of the keep dampened his racing thoughts, until he spotted two figures speaking in low voices in the shadows on the walls above the tavern.

“I think you’re very brave,” said the Inquisitor’s voice.

“Brave?” Came Dorian’s reply.

Cullen turned on his heel unsubtly and walked right back to his office, glad he didn’t hear anything else. He heard Dorian call out to him, but Cullen had no intention of talking to either of them. He slammed his office door shut without really meaning to and returned to his desk to do… what? He rested his weight on his hands and prayed for the strength to endure the Maker-forsaken burning in his limbs.

He heard the office door open behind him.

“Commander-“ it was the damned mage.

“Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude,” Cullen hurried.

“I take it you didn’t hear about the reason for our little trip to Redcliffe.”

“No. It’s none of my business.”

“True, but I think you might be somewhat confused about  _why_.”

Cullen fixed him with a glare, hardly believing Dorian’s impropriety.

“Maker’s breath,” he swore. “I don’t want to discuss this with you, Dorian.”

Dorian sighed. “Just listen, would you?”

When Cullen didn’t object, he continued. “Some time ago Mother Giselle received a letter from my parents, requesting that I meet a ‘family retainer’ at the Gull and Lantern. I am not on good terms with my family, you see. Elowen accompanied me to Redcliffe in case someone tried to kill us. You know how good she is at avoiding the whole ‘death’ thing. Anyway, my father was there waiting for me, and, well… let’s say it wasn’t exactly a joyous family reunion.”

Cullen said nothing, not understanding where this was going.

“You see, my father and I don’t get along because _I_  have sex with  _men_ , not women.”

Cullen was speechless. He  _wanted_ to say something – condolences? But Dorian pressed on before he could think of the words.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Elowen struggled after what happened with Alexius.”

_I did notice._

“I did, too. We could keep each other good company after  _that_  episode. But rest assured the Inquisitor and I are nothing more than good friends.  _I’ve_  seen the way you look at her, even if she hasn’t.”

_The way I look at her?_

“I don’t know what you-”

“She’s all yours, Commander,” Dorian said with a wiggle of the eyebrow as he left Cullen alone in his office.

Cullen could hardly believe his ears. While he had thankfully been mistaken and the whole Inquisition had not suddenly decided to openly discuss the Inquisitor’s sex life, Dorian’s presumption was perhaps even more galling.

 _To accuse me of, what, having some sort of_ crush _on the Inquisitor? I cannot even…_

He fell back into his chair as the realisation hit him like a stampeding gurn. What he had attributed to foolish lust, to an opposition to allying with the mages, to admiration for her sacrifice, to grief…  _Dorian is right, the bastard._

_I want her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what I was thinking with this chapter's plot. Please forgive me.


	8. Chapter 8

Elowen

Elowen was prepared to set out for the Western Approach in the morning. The Commander had secured a camp for the scouts in the eastern part of the region, and Hawke and Stroud had already arrived there to further investigate the Wardens. She finished off a report for Josephine and called a messenger into her quarters to deliver it.

The last piece of work to do was to go over her plan for scouting the Western Approach with the Commander. He had given her a map of the region to let her plan the expedition herself, but she wanted to get his input before putting it into action; she had little experience with tactics. She jotted down an outline of the plan to explain the route marked on the map and called to the guard outside her quarters to send for a messenger, before changing her mind. It would be quicker to discuss it with the Commander directly.

At least, that was the excuse she gave herself.

She offered a quick greeting to Solas in his circular chamber before stepping out into the light of the setting sun on the bridge over the courtyard. She relished the cold mountain air, realising she had been inside all day.

As she opened the Commander’s door, he quickly placed something in a drawer in his desk. Elowen paid it no mind.

“Commander, do you have a moment?”

“Uh, yes, of course, Inquisitor.”

She approached the desk. “I thought I’d ask for your input on the plan to meet Hawke in the Western Approach.”

He was listening, but seemed distracted. His eyes were on her but seemed focused behind her.

“Could I… show you my plan?” She ventured.

He seemed to finally regain his concentration, his eyes on hers now. “Certainly. Although I’m not sure I’ll need to add to it. You know you’ve been leading expeditions like this almost since you joined us.”

She smiled at the compliment and felt her face heat a little. “I’d just like to be sure there’s nothing I’ve missed.”

She passed the map and the outline to him and noticed a slight tremor in his hands as he took them. He leaned over the pieces of vellum on his desk, resting his forehead on his hands. They continued to quiver even under the weight of his head.

_Could this be lyrium withdrawal?_

“This…” he began, and Elowen heard him exhale slowly, as if forcing the breath out. She couldn’t see his face.

Elowen didn’t know much about lyrium addiction, but she knew that one of the best ways to reduce the feeling of pain was to take your mind off it. She went around to his side of the desk and stood close to him, leaning down over her own plans.

“Lead Scout Harding has set up camp here,” she said loudly as she indicated on the map, “So we will head there initially after we leave the main road. I thought we could then proceed west through the canyons,” she indicated the path, “Providing we don’t encounter too much resistance there. The scouts  _did_  mention some Venatori presence, didn’t they, Commander?”

A short pause. “Yes,” he said in a strained voice.

“Did they report where exactly they might be stationed?”

“Primarily in the western regions, Inquisitor.”

“That sounds like our target, then. And did the scouts report any potential threats in the area?”

He removed his head from his hands to rummage through a small pile of reports. “Some dangerous wildlife, varghests and the like, not along the route you’ve marked, but you should keep an eye out nonetheless.” He scanned another report. “There were also some raiders in the area.”

“Does the planned route look suitable to you, Commander?” She asked, knowing he hadn’t listened to her earlier explanation.

He looked back at the map, studying it properly for the first time. “Yes. I have nothing to add to it, like I said.”

He gave her a half smile and she smiled back, noticing the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He seemed to have stopped shaking.

“Thank you for your help.” She paused, wanting to tell him he didn’t have to struggle with this alone, but she couldn’t find the right words. “I… I hope you’re feeling alright,” she attempted.

He raised his eyebrows for a moment, and seemed to realise what she meant. “Yes, I think I am… now.” He seemed lost in thought. “Good luck for the morrow, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you. You will have a report from me as soon as we arrive at Harding’s camp.”

* * *

 

Elowen returned from the Western Approach four weeks later, sand in every crease of her armour. She was a little bruised and had taken an arrow to the shoulder. Luckily her mail coat had taken the brunt of the force, leaving just a graze on her skin. After a long soak in a bath in her quarters, she dressed in a sleeveless silk blouse rather than her usual woollen jacket to reduce the pressure on her bandaged shoulder, cold weather be damned.

On her way to the war room to call the obligatory council meeting, Josephine waved her over to her desk.

“Welcome back, Inquisitor. I am afraid I will have to miss the meeting this evening due to the arrival of the Baron and Baroness du Viole.”

“Oh, that’s fine, Josephine. I can pass the minutes on to you, if you like.”

“Oh, thank you. Again, I am truly sorry.”

Elowen eyed the angle of the light through the windows; it was already mid-afternoon and they would likely be planning the assault on adamant fortress well into the night. Her tired body protested the thought.

“Perhaps… we could put the meeting off until tomorrow? Then you could attend, and we would all have a chance for a good night’s sleep tonight.”

Josephine smiled. “If it is alright with you, Inquisitor, I would much prefer that.”

“Of course. I will let the others know.”

Elowen skipped up to the rookery, pleased at the prospect of an afternoon off. Of course there would be a mound of messages, updates, and invitations to respond to on her desk in her quarters, but that could always wait a couple of hours. She informed Leliana of the meeting’s new time (the spymaster looking a little relieved herself) before heading to Cullen’s office to let him know.

_And there’s no harm in a little small talk, either._

But the Commander was not to be found in his office. She asked one of the soldiers after his whereabouts, but she only said “He headed toward the great hall about an hour ago.” Elowen hadn’t seen him in the rookery tower or in the great hall itself, so she checked the war room and the undercroft before checking the garden, sceptical of finding him there. But it was there that she spotted him, playing a game of chess with none other than Dorian. Cullen had never really seemed to warm to the mage, unlike the clear rapport he had with Iron Bull or Blackwall, and she was pleased to see them together.

The Commander made to stand up from his seat as he spotted her. “Inquisitor!” He interjected, as if caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Leaving, are you?” Dorian asked. “Does this mean I win?”

The Commander sat back down almost immediately, clearly taking the game seriously.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Elowen said, watching a few games of chess sounding like a rather pleasant way to spend her afternoon.

Cullen tented his fingers under his chin, focusing on the mage. “Alright. Your move.”

Dorian made it. “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You’ll feel much better.”

“Really?” Cullen moved a piece. “Because I just won, and I feel fine,” he laughed.

“Don’t get smug. There will be no living with you.” Dorian stood up to leave in a huff.

Cullen turned to Elowen. “I should return to my duties, as well. Unless  _you_  would care for a game?”

Her heart fluttered at the prospect – to be the object of the Commander’s distraction – and she prayed to Andraste that she would remember how to speak  _properly_  this time.

“Prepare the board, Commander.”

She sat down opposite him and they made their opening moves. They chatted about their families and their childhood homes and Elowen was proud she kept her cool despite the frequent eye contact.

 _I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford_.

“This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition, or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction,” he said after a while.

At the mention of distractions, Elowen wondered if he was feeling better than the last time they had spoken. She realised he was still looking at her, and the butterflies made their triumphant return to her innards as she met his eyes. Something was different. The confidence in his voice seemed to have taken up residence in his gaze and she felt helpless in the face of it. She struggled to remember what he had just said.

“Your turn, Inquisitor.”

_That half-smile again._

He raised an eyebrow.

_Right. Chess._

She took the opportunity to stare down at the board, hoping he couldn’t see the heat she felt in her cheeks. She made her move.

_“The longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition,” he said._

She prepared a reply in her mind.

But when she looked back up at him he had not taken his eyes off her.

“We should…”  _We should what?_  “We should spend more time together,” she blurted as he made his counter-move.

_Maker’s breath, have I no control over my own mouth?_

This, though, lessened the intensity of his stare, and he looked almost surprised. “I would… like that.” This time, it was Cullen who looked down at the board. “You  _said_  that…” he murmured, before meeting her eyes once again. “Your move.”

They were silent for the next few turns and Elowen kept her eyes on the board, leaning on her elbow in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. She kept her eyes on his hands, large and strong. Moving chess pieces was an inadequate task for their skill.

The Commander was a good player and she made a few blunders, falling into his traps. She supposed this was a good trait for the leader of the Inquisition’s army to have, but it did nothing for her sense of self-control.

He had her cornered.

“And this one’s mine.” He leaned back, a smug grin on his face.

She threw her arms in the air in defeat. “So I see! I am thoroughly conquered, Commander.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the board.

“We shall have to try again some time.”

She watched his tented fingers brushed against his lips as he spoke and Elowen felt the desperate urge to leave before she embarrassed herself further. As she stood up, she remembered the reason she was looking for the Commander in the first place. She mentally reprimanded herself for getting so distracted.

“Oh! We are to attend a war council tomorrow morning.”

Cullen stood up from the chessboard, resuming his usual self-assured posture. “I will see you there.” He gave her a small smile. “Back to work, I suppose. If you ever need someone to  _conquer you_  again, Inquisitor, I would be happy to oblige.”

It might have been a perfectly innocent comment. She  _had_  used that word, after all. But something about the way he said it,  _conquer you_ , made her knees feel weak. She hurried up to the library for the safety of a good book.

She was not  _afraid_  of Cullen Rutherford. But she could no longer deny that she was utterly smitten with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to the chess scene! *dons party hat, throws streamers*


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The siege of Adamant proved to be more taxing on Cullen than he could predict. His withdrawals and nightmares continue to worsen, and he doesn't know how much longer he can continue.

Cullen

“Maker be with you, Inquisitor,” Cullen bid her as he sent her onward to the battlements at Adamant. To the Inquisition’s misfortune, the ancient fortress was already thick with demons, enough to render the ladders useless. The trebuchets less so.

Cullen briefly pushed on his breastplate, hoping he would be able to feel his brother's coin in the pocket of his shirt, layers under his armour. He couldn't, the pressure too indistinct against his chest. No matter.

“Inquisition! With me!” He called out as he led the Inquisition’s army through the gates.

He directed the main host of their forces after the Inquisitor. He had caught glimpses of her in battle during the attack on Haven, but he could watch the progress of her and her party much more easily here. She was really an excellent archer, and he wondered how much she had improved since she joined the Inquisition. If her opinion of her skills at that time were at all accurate, it was probably “significantly.”

_Not that I’m biased… no, I probably am._

After Dorian had enlightened him about his feelings for the Inquisitor, he had been quick to accept them, soon comfortable with that knowledge of himself. It was, of course, outside the bounds of professionalism to act upon those feelings, and it was of course impossible she could return them, but there was nothing wrong with enjoying her company when he could.

Which was not now. This was battle, Cullen’s field of expertise. No time to be distracted by inappropriate thoughts about his leader. He charged along behind the Inquisitor, directing groups of soldiers to remain in each area of the fortress as they advanced. He pushed down the familiar guilty revulsion that erupted at the sight of the dead and dying Wardens and (thankfully, fewer) Inquisition soldiers. The fear from the sight of demons, still strong from Kinloch Hold, was now easily converted into determination in Cullen’s mind.

The Inquisition forces reached the battlements in good time and with minimal losses, finally reducing the numbers of demons on the walls and allowing the main army on the ground to join them.

Cullen was pleased to find that his templar abilities were only a little blunted after the months without lyrium and he joined the Inquisition’s templars in dispatching the mages enthralled by Corypheus. He reminded himself there was no reasoning with them, but the thought that there must be  _something_  they could do for the mages irritated at the back of his mind as he struck each one down with his sword.

The Inquisitor moved on to find the Warden-Commander as Cullen led the Inquisition’s troops in taking the walls and the main bailey. He was optimistic: they had gained a strong position within a short amount of time, and a few small bands of Warden warriors had joined the Inquisition’s cause. As long as the Inquisitor could reach Clarel before the Wardens were completely corrupted…

A deep rush of air from above.

Cullen turned his head skyward to see the dragon ( _The one that attacked Haven?_ ) descending from the clouds toward the far end of the fortress. He cursed. Would this beast appear every time they had the upper hand in battle?

He prepared to order the men to take cover in the bailey but the beast did not come their way; it was occupied by whatever was going on in the main courtyard. In a lull in the fighting, he directed a couple of scouts forward into the courtyard to update him on the situation with the Wardens (and the Inquisitor).

He had known he would have to suppress his care for her when he set out from Skyhold. She had a dangerous job, but he had his own troops to worry about. He could  _not_  be distracted from his own task by worrying about  _her_ , but the gust of the dragon’s wings and the roar of its cursed breath made it almost impossible. With as clear a mind as he could manage, he continued to fight the remaining Grey Warden mages and the demons in the bailey before rallying the men to penetrate deeper into the fortress.

Once the bailey was taken, one of his scouts approached him as they were about to press forward.

Cullen repressed the feeling of apprehension as he recognised him as the scout he sent to watch the courtyard. “What’s the situation, Bannock? Where is Jarron?”

“Jarron stayed behind to keep watch. Ser…” the scout hesitated and Cullen felt the hot prickle of dread on his neck.

“I returned to report the Inquisitor fell.”

The sounds of battle faded to silence around him.

 _No. Maker, no_.

Cullen raised his voice to keep it steady. “What do you mean, ‘The Inquisitor fell?’”

“The Warden-Commander attacked the dragon on an archway. The beast fell down but the magic collapsed the walkway. The Inquisitor, Warden Blackwall, Warden Stroud and the others were on it as it collapsed.”

_Probably dead. Maybe not. Please not._

“Return to the courtyard and find out what happened!” Cullen forced and the scout hurried away, leaving him alone for a moment. He steeled himself: the battle was not yet over.

_This is battle. You lose people._

Images of her buried under a tonne of stone flowed unbidden into his thoughts and his stomach roiled.

_This was always a possibility. I knew this could happen. I knew…_

His resolve broke and he fell to his knees and prayed.

_Andraste watch over her. Let her be safe. Let her come back…_

“Commander?”

Rylen’s voice brought him back to himself. He stood slowly. Grief could wait.

This was battle.

 _She’s gone_.

Rylen continued, “We have taken the battlements and the bailey. The remaining Warden warriors have joined our cause. Should we push on to join the Inquisitor?”

“We will continue into the courtyard.” His own voice sounded far away.

Leaving a few groups of soldiers on the battlements and sending scouts to report back to Griffon Wing, they pushed on into the main courtyard. It, too, was filled with demons, spewing out of a rift in the centre. The Wardens that remained fought them fiercely, but the rift provided a seemingly endless supply.

“Inquisition!” Cullen shouted to his soldiers, not bothering to mask the fury in his voice. “The Wardens need our help! Send these demons back where they came from!”

As the battle raged around him, a cacophony of steel clanging on steel and desperate shouts, Cullen searched the courtyard for the scouts Jarron and Bannock. He spotted them through vision blurred by adrenaline, on a high part of the battlements away from the combat. Leaving Rylen in charge of the battle, he headed toward them, dispatching a terror from the fade on his way.

“Report!” He barked when he reached them.

It was Jarron who spoke this time. “The Warden-Commander is dead, Ser. She tried to destroy the archdemon but it flew off once the Inquisitor disappeared.”

 _Disappeared_ _?_   _No, don’t hope_.

“The mark on her hand, Ser, she used it to make one of those  _rifts_ ,” Jarron indicated the one in the courtyard below. “She fell through with Warden Stroud and some others.”

 _People aren’t even supposed to enter the fade; she will not return from it a_ second _time._

_Don’t hope. Pay attention._

“You said the dragon flew off?”

“Yes, Ser.”

“Who sent it here? Did the magister Erimond summon it?”

“I think so, Ser.”

“Where is he now?”

“He ran towards the bailey when the archdemon attacked the Warden-Commander.”

“Bannock, come with me. We are going to find this magister. Jarron, report to me  _immediately_  in the bailey should…”

_A miracle occur and the Inquisitor reappear unharmed? Should Andraste herself materialise and sing them all a merry tune?_

“… Should anything happen.”

Cullen and Bannock headed off in the direction the magister had run. He would not be able to escape through the main gates now; the Inquisition had taken the remainder of the fortress.

They marched back the way they had come, probing into any side chambers. As they entered the storeroom on the lower level, a greasy man with a stiff collar and bloodstone armour ran in from the other entrance.

Cullen felt the clarity of revenge settle on his mind as he drew his sword and raised his shield. Erimond raised a staff but Cullen smote him before he could open his mouth, knocking him to the ground. The magister scrambled to his feet and made to swing his staff but Cullen countered it with a blow from his sword before he bashed the magister hard in the face with his shield. Erimond fell to the ground unconscious with a  _whump_.

“Bannock, fetch soldiers from the front gate to tie this man and transport him back to Griffon Wing. I will keep him here.”

Bannock returned his bow to his back, unused. “Yes, Commander.”

As the scout left, Cullen held back any thoughts of  _her_  with strategising. How would they deal with the rift in the courtyard? Without the Inquisitor… they would bring in the strongest of the mages, led by Solas. Hopefully their power and the apostate’s knowledge would be enough…

Bannock returned with three soldiers in tow. They bound the magister hand and foot and hauled him away, and Cullen made to head back to the courtyard to continue the battle there. He had been gone too long.

As they rounded a corner, they saw Jarron coming towards them at a run.

_Maker, what now?_

“Ser! The demons are defeated and the rift closed.”

Cullen was incredulous. They had no way of closing the rift. “ _What_? How?”

_Don’t hope. Don’t-_

“The Inquisitor, Ser. She came back through it.”

Cullen’s head swam and he fought to keep his balance. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s true, Ser. She stepped back through with the Champion of Kirkwall, Warden Blackwall, the elf mage, and Varric Tethras, and she closed the rift back up again.”

“Go back to the courtyard and update the Inquisitor on what happened since she entered the Fade. Let her know we’ve captured Erimond for her judgment.”

“Yes, Ser.” Jarron gave him a salute and jogged back the way he had come.

Cullen controlled the unsteadiness that came from the rapid shifts between hope, crushing grief, rage, and overwhelming relief as he marched out of the fortress to the main host of the Inquisition’s army to announce their victory.

He returned to Griffon Wing with the scouts immediately after the battle, leaving Rylen to direct the work that came afterwards. Cullen retreated to the blessed solitude of his tent, where he could work and talk to no one.

_Andraste preserve me. I cannot bear this._

* * *

 

Cullen spent the night collating the reports of the battle from his officers. He wrote up his own reports for the Inquisitor and his officers before travelling back to Skyhold directly, first thing in the morning, with a small company of soldiers. He left a copy of his report with a messenger to give to the Inquisitor when she returned to the Keep. He didn’t let himself dwell on why he couldn’t stand to see her, just left, needing to get back to work, back in control.

They camped on the road on the way back to the Frostbacks, and Cullen woke early each day with his usual nightmares. He told himself the soreness in his body was from the exertion of battle and the long journey on horseback.

They arrived back at Skyhold late in the afternoon, and after a meeting with Josephine and Leliana in the war room, Cullen threw himself into his work. He made it to nightfall before the need for lyrium drove him to pull the philter kit from his desk once again, staring it down, praying for the strength to resist. A walk around the battlements and his head was cleared enough for another couple of hours of delegating, reporting, and strategising. Sometime after midnight, he surrendered to the spasms wracking through his limbs and fell into bed, awaiting the demons in his dreams.

They came, as they always did. The beautiful and righteous devolved into horror and pain in his mind as it had a decade ago in the Circle Tower, his friends tortured in front of his eyes until they submitted to the demons. But not Cullen.  _He_  remained, watching as they fell or were transformed, one by one.

He awoke with a start, relieved for a moment before he realised the burning need for lyrium in his body hadn’t lessened as he slept.

The pain would usually come in peaks and troughs. Sometimes he would be sure he couldn’t stand it any longer before blessed relief came slowly, and there would be days where he felt almost normal. But this wave hadn’t yet peaked.

He didn’t allow himself to wonder how much worse it might get. It was still night; there was no hint of dawn in the black of the patch of sky he could see through the collapsed ceiling. He fell slowly again into sleep.

More demons, but it was different this time. He was in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cassandra and Leliana were fighting at his side but the demons were bursting forth from the rift quicker with every one they killed. Then abruptly, the demons seemed to be spent.

But it was too good to be true: out from the fade crawled Corypheus’s dragon, black scales and snarling gusts of hot breath. Cullen readied himself for the fight, but it flew off into the mountains. The three of them chased it into the blizzard, hunting for it.

Toward them, through the white roar of the storm, stumbled Elowen. She was freezing, each strand of her hair a thread of glassy ice. He tried to run to her but his legs were too heavy. The huge black dragon landed behind her, bearing its teeth, staring at Cullen through its dark eyes as it stalked toward the Herald.

* * *

 

Cullen dressed quickly the next morning, disregarding the cold sweat soaking into his clean underarmour, and walked out of his tower, through the gates of the keep, and down toward the camp on the edge of the glacier below. The sky was a grey sheet, a few stars remaining in the darker west. The frigid morning air did nothing to distract him from the stinging in his limbs as he walked. He devoted himself to his training, first with a training dummy and then with a squadron of the Inquisition’s soldiers, but his exertion couldn’t match the cravings and his focus couldn’t keep away the thoughts.

_I could just take it._

_No. I swore I would not, I would start anew._

_I swore to myself to the Inquisition. What good am I if I cannot serve it as I ought?_

The training session ended, and Cullen regretted it bitterly, returning to Skyhold for the hours of fighting to hold off his need and his  _thoughts_  with work. He settled at his desk and glared at the accumulated stack of papers, desperately straining to read through the haze. The first was an invitation to a blighted  _surprise party_  for the Inquisitor.

_Maker’s breath._

Images of her from his dreams and memories rose up, out of his control.

_Crushed under stone, frozen in the blizzard…_

“Commander-“

“ _What_?” He shouted at the hapless scout. He still had the awareness to regret it instantly. “I’m sorry, Lara.”

He came to a decision and marched past her to his office door. “If anyone comes looking for me, I am going to speak to Seeker Pentaghast.”

He found the Seeker watching an early bout in the training ring in the courtyard.

“Seeker, may I have a word with you?” Cullen asked, lower than the din of clashing swords.

“Certainly.” She paused and looked at him expectantly.

“In private?”

“Oh.” She looked around for a potential facility. “The smiths won’t be at work yet. The armoury will do.”

Cullen followed her into the building, closing the door behind him.

“What is it?” Cassandra asked bluntly.

“When you recruited me to the Inquisition you agreed to…  _monitor_  my abstinence from lyrium.”

“Yes, I did.”

He paused as a shock of pain ran down his spine, clenching his fists. “This is... I’m not sure how much more of this I can take,” he hissed.

“I  _have_  been watching you, Cullen. Your performance hasn’t suffered. If you can-”

“I think it’s time you started looking for a replacement for me,” he interrupted.

The Seeker looked him up and down slowly. “No.”

_No?_

“What? Did you not hear me? I said-”

“You asked for my opinion, and I’ve given it. Why would you expect it to change?”

“I expect you to  _keep your word_. It’s relentless. I can’t-”

“You give yourself too little credit.”

His pain amplified his frustration with her. “If I’m unable to fulfil what vows I kept then  _nothing_  good has come of this! Would you rather  _save face_  than admit-”

The armory door opened and Cullen turned, expecting to see one of the smiths, but there stood the Inquisitor, unmistakeable despite her bright halo of morning sunshine. For a moment her lips were blue, her woollen jacket coated in snow, white ice crystals coating each hair.

Cullen blinked once, hard, willing himself to see the Inquisitor as she  _must_  have been.

_It’s happening. The madness._

Her colour was normal, no ice to be seen, as she looked at him quizzically through dry eyelashes. She had returned from the Fade once again, nary a scratch on her.  _Alive_.

_I can’t._

The Inquisitor walked toward him, opening her mouth to speak, but Cullen brushed past her and back out into the courtyard. He ignored Cassandra’s comment about  _stubbornness_  and left them there, escaping back to his office.

_Is this not enough? These aches, these thoughts?_

He found Lara still waiting in his office, looking nervous. “The Inquisitor came looking for you, Ser.”

“Have you been standing…? Thank you, Lara. Dismissed.”

“Aye, Ser.”

Lara hurried away and Cullen pulled out his philter box once more. He couldn’t bring the prayers to his lips.

_If this is not enough, if I must go on, perhaps I should. For the sake of our cause._

Memories of abominations, demons, of his Knight-Commander’s madness filled his mind.

_No. I left that behind._

Elowen’s cold body, hunted by the beast, falling down into the fade…

 _I left it for the Inquisition. This cause is greater than any other. I_ must _serve it to the best of my ability. I should take it. I should have been this whole time._

Another shudder burned down his spine, down his legs, and he picked up the box and heaved it at the wall in a frantic surge of hatred.

Instead of the stone wall, it smashed against the open door; the Inquisitor was standing in the doorway, her mouth open in shock.

“Maker’s breath! I didn’t hear you enter! I…”

Surely Cassandra had told her he would be leaving. “Forgive me,” he sighed.

Her expression was exasperated. “Cullen, if you need to talk-“

_No. Not her._

He moved to usher her out. “You don’t have to-”

He made to approach her but the red-hot wave that passed through his body stopped him in his tracks, and he collapsed against the desk for support. She walked toward him, loathed  _sympathy_  in her eyes, and he tried to wave her away.

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he sighed.

“Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes… I don’t know,” he sighed. She had been so understanding,  _too_  understanding, when he told her he’d stopped taking lyrium. The least he could offer was an explanation for why he would be leaving the Inquisition.

He forced out the words. “You once asked what happened at Ferelden’s Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The templars –  _my friends_  – were slaughtered.”

He felt the words coming freely, for once, as he relived the memories for the thousandth time, looking out the window to avoid her eyes. He leaned on the wall for support. She was still listening patiently.

“I was… tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I-” He let out a short laugh. “How can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander and for what, hm? Her fear of mages ended in  _madness_. Kirkwall’s circle fell. Innocent people  _died_  in the streets.”

And she was _still_ listening.

“Can’t you see why I want  _nothing_  to do with that life?” He demanded.

“Of course I can, I-“

“Don’t!”

 _Doesn’t she see?_   _I have failed._

He walked towards her, then away, pacing back and forth. “You should be  _questioning_  what I’ve done. I thought this would be  _better_  – that I would regain some control over my life but these  _thoughts_ won’t leave me!”

She was still there, watching him, hands on hips. Her calm acceptance wound his anger at himself tighter.

“How many lives depend on our success? I  _swore_  myself to this cause!” He bellowed as another rending wave rolled down his body. “I will  _not_  give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry.  _I should be taking it!_ ”

He smashed a fist into his bookcase, books dropping to the floor. The pain in his knuckles joined that in his limbs in a harmony that appeased.

“I should be taking it.”

He wished then she would order him to leave. It would be what he deserved.

But she was still listening.

She waited for a moment, and then said softly, “Is that what  _you_  want? To take lyrium?”

_I need it._

Cullen exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“No,” he replied.

She stepped closer to him now and he looked up to meet her eyes, concentrating on that reality, forcing back the nightmares. “But these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I… if I cannot endure this…”

She reached up and placed a hand on his breastplate. “Do you remember… one night in Haven, you found me on the jetty...”

He remembered. Of course he did. But she had never mentioned it. He thought she would probably rather forget. The memory of holding her gave him a sudden awareness of how close she was to him.

“And I asked you if you thought I could close the breach. You said you didn’t know, but that if anyone could, it was me. When you said that…” She dropped her gaze, looking at her feet. “I, uh… well, I’m not sure I could’ve done it without you.”

_Did my words affect her so much?_

And she was so  _close_ …

She looked back up at him, a soft smile on her face. “So. I don’t know if it’s even possible to overcome lyrium withdrawals. But if anyone can do it, Cullen, it’s you. You are…” She took a breath. “You are one of the strongest men I know.”

Cullen sighed. He didn’t believe her, but she was right. He had to keep trying.

“Alright.”

He wanted to say more, to thank her, but she had turned away and was making for the door. He half-heartedly followed her, but she was gone without another word.

The pain was no less, but she had driven it from the front of his mind. He could still feel the warmth of her hand in the steel of his armour. He knew he could do this, if only for a while longer.

_I will not give up yet._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their successes in the Emerald Graves and the Winter Palace grow the Inquisition's influence, and with it, so grows Elowen's confidence in her ability to lead. But she is still nervous about Cullen's struggles with lyrium. He puts her fears decidedly to rest.

Elowen

Elowen spent a couple of weeks trekking through the Emerald graves, pursuing the Freemen they had managed to clear out from the Exalted Plains. The region was beautiful, all thick green forest and soft dark soil, and despite the Graves’ sombre history, she enjoyed her time there immensely compared to the hot, dry desert of the Western Approach.

The loss of Stroud at Adamant was fresh in her mind and the exercise and natural surrounds helped keep her mind off her guilt. Dozens of Inquisition soldiers had now died because of her decisions, and likely hundreds of her enemies at her hands. But Stroud was more: she had looked into his eyes at the moment he knew he would die, and it was because of  _her_. Directly. It was a visceral kind of guilt, deep in her gut, somewhere near the spine. But Bull’s enthusiasm, Sera’s loquaciousness, and Dorian’s snark was enough to keep her cheerful in their advance through the forest. Her friends kept her aware, pulled her out of her head.

While they were in the forest, they had managed to intercept letters between red lyrium smugglers and the red templars for Cullen, keeping him on Elowen’s mind. She hoped he had recovered since they had last spoken; she had left him to initiate any conversations after he admitted the extent of his problems to her, but he had not taken the opportunity. She tried not to be disappointed. It had clearly been difficult for him admit to his struggles, not just with lyrium addiction but with the torment of his past. But his fierce determination and success despite those struggles only served to elevate him further in her judgment. She had seen where that extraordinary willpower, so unfamiliar to her, could be directed. She was confident Cassandra would not need to find a replacement for him, but the uncertainty did make her uncomfortable. Not to mention that the potential side effect of his  _death_  was a more than a little horrifying. She repeated to herself that he would be alright: Cullen Rutherford truly  _was_  the strongest man she knew. Not that she was biased.

Overall, the adventures in the Emerald Graves were like a balm for her nerves, all action and no politics, and she relished the freedom. But alas, the date of Empress Celene’s ball-slash-poorly-kept-secret-negotiations was fast approaching, and they were obliged to return to Skyhold or face Josephine’s wrath.

* * *

 

They returned to the Inquisition’s stronghold as the sun set over the Frostbacks. After a hot bath Elowen fell exhausted into bed in deliciously clean pyjamas and slept through the night without a dream. She was woken eventually, the sun already high, by the guard assigned to her quarters.

“Are you awake, Inquisitor?” She called apprehensively up the stairs.

“Yes!” Elowen replied with a little too much volume in an attempt to hide her drowsiness.

“A messenger for you, your worship.”

“Send them in,” she said, sleepy voice moderated.

She clambered out of bed, quickly straightening the blankets and parting her hair as a scout reached the top of the staircase.

“Your Worship-” he began, startled by the sight of Her Worship the Herald of Andraste in her pyjamas. To his credit, he recovered quickly. “The Commander wishes to speak with you… at your convenience.”

Butterflies. The Commander had not yet resigned from his post. She took that as a good sign.

“Thank you. Please let him know I will see him in his office in ten minutes or so.” She replied, a little sheepishly.

“He asks you to meet him on the battlements near the northwest tower, Your Worship.”

“Oh, alright. I will be there,” she smiled.

The scout left with a salute and Elowen dressed quickly and pulled her hair into her usual sensible bun, wondering what was so special about the northwest tower.

Cullen was waiting for her on the battlements, as promised, looking out at the view. The morning was crisp and clear, and the sharp mountains glowed pale yellow in the early sunlight.

He heard her approach. “I wanted to thank you… when you came to see me…”

His voice was gentler than when they last spoke, lacking the harshness put there by withdrawal.

He turned to her. “If there’s anything…” he sighed in frustration. “This sounded much better in my head.”

She smiled at the change in him. “You’re feeling better?”

“I… yes.”

“It isn’t like that all the time, is it?”

“The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I’m back there… I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

“I… I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I am.” He turned back to face the parapets. Elowen moved to his side, allowing herself to stand a little closer than was entirely professional. He didn’t move away.

“I’ve never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle. I was… not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I’m not proud of the man that made me. Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It’s a start.”

He looked down at her, his face almost  _serene_. She looked back into his golden eyes, slightly afraid she may lose herself in them. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, concerned.

“What about you? You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?”

She let out a quiet laugh. “That night on the jetty… I still feel the same as I did then, a lot of the time. I’m just… better at dealing with it, I suppose. So many people depend on us… on  _me_. Corypheus is still out there.”

His eyes warmed. “We’ve made great strides. Do not doubt yourself, or the Inquisition, just yet.”

Once again, he offered that fierce sureness to her, to take for her own. She tried to accept it.

“If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask,” He offered, with a salute to his chest.

The thought of what she would like him to do warmed her face and she fought for control of her words.

 _Professional_.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said with a too-bright smile.

 _A joke, quick_.

“Are you looking forward to the Empress’s ball?”

His deep, easy laugh did nothing to untangle her scrambled thoughts. “I can think of nothing I would rather avoid. Are you?”

“I admit, I am a little. It’s always nice to get dressed up, dance, and foil an assassination plot every once in a while.”

“In that case, I hope you have the night of your life.”

She gave a little bow and scurried away to the war room, thoughts of how Cullen could contribute to  _the night of her life_  swirling around in her mind.

* * *

 

Elowen did not resent her time at the Winter Palace as much as some of her colleagues. Despite the unbearable two-facedness of the attendees, it was a beautiful night. It had been a long while since she had had to put on the façade of Lady Trevelyan, but to combine it with the not-quite-comfortable authority of the Inquisitor  _was_  something of a thrill. She had done her best to dazzle and intrigue the court. The satisfaction she felt at the look on the Grand Duchess’s face as she confronted her in the ballroom, in front of all the nobility of Orlais, was enough to keep her smiling all the way back to Skyhold. The tentative reunion of the Empress and Briala was just the icing on the petit fours.

While they were travelling, Leliana had asked her why she had taken the risk of trying to rekindle the rumoured romance.  Elowen considered it for a moment, not having really thought about it in much detail. “It just seemed like the right thing to do, if I could manage it. I think everyone deserves a chance at happiness. Those caught up in the Grand Game even more so.”

The Spymaster replied with a short “I see,” and said no more on the matter.

The next meeting in the war room was the first when she had felt truly pleased with the way she had handled her job in the field (or the palace, as the case may be). Their efforts were already paying off: Josephine had received a message from the Empress, notifying her of an opportunity to win favour in Nevarra.

“I will use my contacts in the Nevarran court to warn the Count, if you wish to take advantage of this, Inquisitor.”

“Yes, please do,” Elowen acquiesced.

Josephine turned to Cullen. ”And Commander, I have requests for information on your lineage from a few, ah,  _interested parties_  at the Winter Palace.”

Elowen recalled the gaggle of flattering ladies surrounding Cullen all the evening at the Winter Palace with a flash of rage, before attempting to calm herself.

_He is not mine. If he is interested in any of the ladies, it is none of my business, as long as he is not distracted form his duties._

Not that she could blame them. He had looked positively  _dashing_ , in Dorian's words, in the uniform that was so unflattering on the rest of them.

“Andraste preserve me!” Cullen swore. “Feel free to use those requests as kindling.”

Elowen noticed Leliana’s eyes on her as she breathed a private sigh of relief.

“No,  _I_  shall take them,” said the Spymaster. “I want to know who  _pines_  for our Commander. We can use this to our advantage.”

Elowen quailed under her suggestive gaze, looking down at her hands, hoping the heat in her cheeks wouldn’t show too much.

When the meeting ended, she hurried straight to the library for some quality time with Dorian, glad Leliana had asked Cullen to stay back after the meeting. She wasn’t sure if she could stand the feeling of both their eyes on her back.

* * *

 

Elowen sat at her desk in her quarters some days later, happy with the stability and predictability of paperwork. She didn’t have as much of it as her advisors: Josephine managed most of Elowen’s personal correspondence at Skyhold. She pored over the piled up letters and invitations the ambassador had passed on since the masquerade, work lit by the golden afternoon sun streaming in through the leadlight windows.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the steps of the guard stationed outside the entrance to her tower. She looked up expectantly.

“The Commander is here to see you, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Roryn. Send him in.”

Elowen rose to greet him, unable to look away from him as he approached.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen greeted. “I have a report for you.”

He sounded breathless. He was a proficient warrior; it couldn’t be from the walk up the tower.

“Thank you, Cullen. Is this about Fairbanks’ information?”

“Yes.” He handed it to her stiffly, leaning one gloved hand lightly on her desk.

It was a short thing, barely half a page long. She pondered why he had come all the way to her quarters for such a simple update.

_Could he… no. He didn’t just come to see me. He is not as pathetic as I._

She began to read the report, but looked back up at him. He was gripped the edge of the desk tightly, looking down at his hands. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, lined by his furrowed brow. He was in pain.

She finished reading the short report. “This is good news. I will deal with the red templars the next time I’m in the Emerald Graves.”

“I’m…” Cullen trailed off, voice strained.

_He needs a distraction. Maybe he wants it to be me._

“Feel like a game of chess?” Elowen suggested quickly.

He let out a breath. “Maker, yes,” he said with a tired smile.

She skipped to the stairs ahead of him, hoping this was what he needed. Then she remembered:

_Conquer you._

“Commander, this time, are you going to…”

_No. No, I can’t say it._

She stopped mid-sentence, her face heating. She continued down the stairs, glad he couldn’t see her flush.

“Am I going to  _what_?” He asked, a quiet lilt to his voice.

“Never mind.”

She led him to the chess table in the garden. It was a snowy day, flakes drifting slowly onto the castle walls, washing out the green of the garden. As they played, the lines in his face faded and the strain in his voice lifted. They talked like they had during their last game – friendly and  _not_  about the Inquisition. He still watched her with that confidence, but she didn’t melt under it. This time, she had won.

“I believe this one is yours. Well played.” His voice was even now, relaxed.

She smiled. “I should get back to my duties. I hope you can recover from this terrible loss, Commander.”

“I am not sure I will, Inquisitor. I am utterly conquered.”

She stared at him, unable to respond. He held her gaze as he stood, and she felt like he was waiting for her, until he turned away to head back to his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For real though, how pretty is the Emerald Graves? I wasted toooo much time in that area.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blackwall disappears under mysterious circumstances. Intending to update the Inquisitor on the army's activities, Cullen accidentally interrupts her bath time. When the Inquisitor investigates an execution in Val Royeaux, hoping it could be a lead on Blackwall, Leliana instructs Cullen to follow her there.

Cullen

Cullen re-read the red lyrium smugglers’ letters the Inquisitor had found in the Emerald Graves, hardly believing the contents. It was surreal. Templars, like those he had worked with for years, grown up with, like  _him_ , were being corrupted by the dozen with this Maker forsaken mineral. Could this truly be the work of  _Samson_?

He tried to push the thoughts from his mind – he was coming to realise that dwelling on unpleasant memories from his past only worsened his nightmares and the spasms through his body. He tried to replace them with thoughts of Elowen.  _The Inquisitor_ , he corrected himself. No harm in just  _thinking_  of her.

She had returned again from southern Orlais a couple of hours ago. He watched her crossing the bridge from his office, Varric, Vivienne, and Iron Bull with her, grateful that she appeared unharmed. Blackwall had been scheduled to accompany her on this outing, but his untimely disappearance had put a stop to that. Cullen was incensed at the man. He had liked him unreservedly since he joined them at Haven – they were both seasoned warriors – but his leaving them so mysteriously changed Cullen’s opinion of him entirely. He was irresponsible at best, a traitor at worst, and Cullen couldn’t keep his own sense of betrayal from shifting his opinion toward the latter.

The sun was just beginning to dip below the mountains and he reasoned  _the Inquisitor_ would still be working in her quarters in preparation for the war council planned for the next morning. He had rather hoped that accepting his care for her would help him overcome it, and it would inevitably fade into an embarrassing memory. He _was_ managing to maintain a professional distance, for the most part. But her gregarious personality was pulling him into a genuine friendship with her, and he was beginning to doubt his ability to suppress his attraction.

He had gone to her in the throes of withdrawal before her departure and she had given him everything he needed, whether she knew it or not. She seemed to know what he had come to her for,  _comfort_ , without either of them actually mentioning his struggle. When she invited him to a game of chess his stomach had done a little flip despite the pain, but then his fumbling attempt at flirting ( _Maker, what was I thinking?_ ) had seemed to completely miss the mark. Although he thought she might have remembered his use of the word “conquer” at their last game, she clearly hadn’t, and she had just  _stared_  at him as he tried to escape from the chess table in the most dignified manner possible. He cringed at the memory.

Leliana had pulled him aside after the last war council and frankly told him to make his move, as bluntly as she was able, which was not very. “For all our sakes,” she had said, in mock desperation. He was humiliated that Leliana had noticed his glances at her, his almost compulsive mentions of her in conversation. Of course, he denied having any inappropriate feelings for Elowen –  _no, the Inquisitor_  – to Leliana, and regardless, she clearly didn’t think of  _him_  that way. How could she, after seeing past his facade, knowing what he’d done, how weak he truly was?

And yet, he  _did_  have reports for her. It would not be unreasonable for him to take them to her in person. No one else was to know he just longed to see her face after weeks of her absence. He was collecting his reports addressed to her when he noticed an invitation that had slipped his mind weeks ago.

_Dear Ser Cullen,_

_You are cordially invited to a surprise party to be held in honour of Inquisitor Elowen Trevelyan’s name day. Please be present at the Herald’s Rest by sundown on the third day of Parvulis._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Ambassador Josephine Montilyet_

Cullen smiled at Josephine’s formal style and counted the days until the party.

_At least it’s not another damned Orlesian ball._

With dread, he realised the party was to be held the night after next, and prayed Josephine would forgive him for the faux pas of not bringing a gift.

_Back to work...if I can really call this “work.”_

He set off to the Inquisitor’s quarters, reports in hand. Solas was painting another piece of the solar wall, small people in elegant dress on either side of a large blue triangle. Cullen idly wondered what the whole work was supposed to achieve as he crossed the great hall to the door to the Inquisitor’s tower.

The guard posted at the door saluted him.

“Is the Inquisitor available at the moment?”

“Er, I’m not sure, Ser. I’ll just check.”

Cullen restrained his annoyance at the guard as she ascended the staircase. Wasn’t it her job to know if the Inquisitor was available? But she soon returned.

“The Inquisitor will come down to see you in a few minutes, Commander.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

He wondered why she wouldn’t rather he go up to her directly, but dismissed the thought. She must have a reason. He scanned over his reports as he waited, memorising details, summarising them in his mind.

After a few minutes, “The Inquisitor, Ser.”

He looked up to the doorway and all thought left his mind. She stood there, skin soft and shining from a bath, her hair piled on her head in a towel and her usual beige outfit replaced by a deep green silk bathrobe.  _Smiling_  at him.

“You wanted to see me, Commander?”

_Maker, yes. Yes I do._

“I uh…”  _What was… reports! Reports._  “I have reports for you, outlining our military activities while you were away.”

“Oh, good. Let’s go up and we can go through them.”

“As you say, Inquisitor.”

He followed her up the stone and wooden stairs of the tower, keeping his eyes studiously on his feet. He glanced at the large copper bath still steaming in her quarters and tried desperately to keep any unprofessional thoughts from his mind.

_She is the Inquisitor._

She sat at her desk and he handed her the reports. He stood opposite as she read, attempting to admire the views from the tower, but his eyes were pulled back to the glow of her warm skin. His gaze wondered down a little, emboldened by her distraction, and the faint outline of hard nipples under smooth silk nearly undid him. He forced himself to turn away out of propriety, rubbing his neck uncomfortably.

Finally, she looked up. “Thank you, Commander. War councils are always a little easier to follow when I already know what our forces have been doing.”

He kept his eyes on. Her. Face. “You’re welcome. Our forces are only growing faster, and now with the Wardens on our side, our influence may spread farther than ever.” As he spoke, she pulled the towel from her head, letting her long hair tumble down one shoulder.

_Maker, the sight of her._

Words failed him.

She looked concerned. “How are you, Cullen?”

He cursed to himself. She thought he had come to her for help again, that he couldn’t deal with his pain alone.

_She must think me pitiful._

“I am well, Inquisitor,” he said in his Commander voice.

“Good.” She rose from her seat and walked toward him slowly, and he admired the movement of her hips despite himself. She looked up at him, close enough that he could count the clumps of her wet eyelashes, and he inhaled sharply.

“Because I…” she hesitated.

_Could she be… no. Not nervous?_

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Commander.” Her tone was jovial but she didn’t look away from him. He stared into her face, trying to find any sign that she could possibly be serious.  _Permission_.

Just as he was about to recklessly reach for her waist, she turned away quickly. She gave an awkward laugh as she moved his reports around on her desk.

“Maker knows we need  _someone_  with your relaxed and frivolous attitude around here.”

He chuckled in reply, the tension evaporating, thanking the Maker for his self-control.

“I am glad to be of assistance, Inquisitor.”

_Enough of this. She is your Inquisitor, for Andraste’s sake, not some barmaid to flirt with._

“I will see you tomorrow at the council,” he declared in as steady a voice as he could manage.

She looked up and to his surprise – to his  _pleasure_  – he saw she was flushed. “Yes, I’ll see you there.”

He gave a quick salute at his chest and set off down the stairs. He was thankful for the thick belt and long tunic he wore over his armour as he walked through the great hall, thoughts of Elowen changing out of that green robe filling his mind despite his mental protests.

Back in his office, he slammed the door and leaned against it, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger.

_What just happened?_

Except for that bathrobe, she seemed entirely normal and professional up until she had stood close enough he could feel the heat from her skin.

_What was it she said? “I don’t know what I’d do without you?”_

If it weren’t for the nervous laugh and the blush that blossomed over her features, he could have taken it as a joke, an exaggeration. But now, nothing seemed so straightforward. Cullen was determined to put it out of his mind; he did not need any more difficulty in speaking face to face with the leader of the Inquisition. Regardless, he knew that what he hoped for was impossible. He was not naïve enough to think that he could just quash his feelings for her, but he  _could_  resolve to act professionally despite them.

_She is not mine, and will never be._

* * *

 

The war council the following morning was cancelled at the news that Leliana’s agents had found a lead on Blackwall’s location. Elowen gathered Sera, Iron Bull, and Cole together and they set out for Val Royeaux at dawn, aiming to find a clue about the Warden’s location at Mornay’s execution.

Leliana approached Cullen at around midday that day with news of Blackwall’s true identity. She handed him an old dossier she had prepared on Thom Rainier, oblivious that Blackwall was he when he had joined them. Cullen’s contempt for the man only increased as he read the report.

“What a fool I have been. There he was, right under our noses! If only I had-”

“He fooled us all, Leliana,” Cullen interrupted. “None of us had any idea he was impersonating a Warden.”

“I suspected he wasn’t who he claimed to be, but as he was helping us, I was lax. I should have put the pieces together sooner.”

“This is not your fault. It is Rainier’s –  _he_  is the one who deceived us.”

“There’s nothing more that can be done now,” she said bitterly. “Get this to the Inquisitor in Val Royeaux. She must decide what to do, and quickly.”

“I’ll see it done.”

Leliana left him, and Cullen soon followed her out the door, having packed a travel bag and assigned a small group of soldiers to accompany him. He jogged down to the stables. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, it had been too long since he had left Skyhold, and he relished the opportunity for a ride.

As he waited for the soldiers to arrive and take their mounts, he spotted Josephine hurrying over to him.

“Commander! Oh, I am glad I caught you,” she panted. “This matter with Ranier is our first priority, of course, but if you could, please  _do_  make sure the Inquisitor makes it back to Skyhold by tomorrow night.”

_Tomorrow night? Oh, the damned party._

“I will  _try_ , Ambassador.”

“I know this situation must take precedence, but I have been planning this for  _months_.”

“I will do my best.”

“Thank you. Do be careful.”

Once his group had assembled, he mounted his charger and they set off westward.

* * *

 

The Val Royeaux guards directed him to the prison when he asked after the Inquisitor, and he left his soldiers outside to wait for her in the upper cells. He could hear her voice and Blackwall’s echoing up from below, and he imagined they would not appreciate an interruption. She emerged after a short while, eyes slightly reddened, looking surprised but not unhappy to see him.

“I have Leliana’s report on Thom Rainier.”

“Thank you.” She read the report quickly, eyes darting back and forth over the parchment. “This is helpful. Well, no, not really. At least, educational.”

“Don’t blame yourself. We all made this mistake.”

She asked for his opinion on what to do, and Cullen was honest with her. He wouldn’t have released him – he deserved his fate. Elowen decided to have Rainier released, however, using the Inquisition’s political leverage in Orlais, but they could not act on her decision until they were back at Skyhold. Cullen didn’t argue. Blackwall was dead to him.

It was late in the evening by that time, and both his soldiers and her party were exhausted. Cullen instructed two of the men to return to Skyhold to notify Leliana and Josephine of their plans (this matter was too sensitive to be communicated via raven) while the rest of them turned in to a guesthouse just outside the city gates. Except for Iron Bull and Sera, who stayed at the bar for “Just a couple drinks, Boss,” they all went straight to their rooms.

Cullen had just closed his door behind him, secretly wondering whether the Inquisitor carried that green robe with her when she travelled, when he had an idea. He swept back out of the room, down the stairs, and straight back to the Summer Bazaar. The few street merchants in the square were packing up for the night and he walked quickly from stall to stall, searching.

Finally, he spotted a gold necklace at a stall filled with accessories. The man seemed annoyed at his belated interest, but became more enthusiastic when Cullen asked about the necklace. The chain was long and delicate, holding a fine horse charm. He had no idea if Elowen even liked jewellery, but he handed over the sovereigns to the now-happy merchant and returned to the guesthouse, the gift safely tucked in a velvet pouch.

It would have to do.

He told himself it was for propriety’s sake. The Commander of the Inquisition could hardly turn up at the Inquisitor’s name day party  _without_  a gift.

“Where d’you reckon  _he_  ran off to, eh?” He heard Sera ask Bull as Cullen climbed up the stairs to his room, diligently ignoring them.

“Whorehouse,” Bull replied sarcastically, his deep voice echoing up the corridor.

Sarah's high cackle followed. “That’s our Cullen! Just can’t help himself, can he, that one.”

Cullen scowled at the implication his trip to a whorehouse would last about fifteen minutes as he removed his armour before falling onto the lumpy mattress. He kept his hands steadfastly above the blankets as thoughts of green silk on soft curves flooded his mind, finally finding sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of two Cullen chapters in a row, so I hope you like Cullen's POV! I wrote it all as one chapter, but it was tooooo long so I had to break the alternating pattern (sob).


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen reluctantly takes a night off to attend the Inquisitor's name day party.

Cullen

Cullen, his remaining soldiers, and the Inquisitor’s party arrived back at Skyhold in the early afternoon the day after Thom Rainier’s arrest. The long-delayed war council meeting was finally upon them. The Inquisitor elected to use the Inquisition’s influence with the Orlesian court to leverage Rainier’s release and Josephine began drafting the requisite letters then and there, on the war table. The meeting, a longer one than usual, was finally completed after the remaining matters on the agenda were addressed and Cullen quickly gave his goodbyes before heading off to his office. His collection of paperwork had grown particularly tall during his short absence and he was impatient to shrink it.

Leliana fell into step beside Cullen as they crossed the main hall to the rookery tower.

“Are-” He began, but he was interrupted.

“Have you made your move yet?” She asked in a low voice, her thin eyebrows raised mockingly.

He started. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hissed, glancing behind him to make sure the Inquisitor was not within earshot.

“No, of course not,” she smirked. “Don’t wait too long, Commander. She  _is_  in rather high demand.”

Cullen glared at her as she entered the tower, a smirk on her face. He locked eyes with Varric, knowing the dwarf would have heard  _everything_. Cullen glared at him, too, and stalked back to his office.

_Andraste preserve me... and what does she mean by “high demand?”_

He managed a good hour or two of consistent work, managing the Inquisition’s ever-expanding regiments and planning with his officers. As the corruption of the templars spread, those few remaining loyal to the Chantry had joined the Inquisition. They needed more and more lyrium to sustain them, but Cullen was able to put that to the back of his mind most of the time. The pain had been lessening of late, and the familiarity of the templars brought more comfort than bad memories. He appreciated having their skills on the Inquisition’s side.

As the sun sank slowly toward the horizon his thoughts turned to the surprise party that evening. He didn’t plan on staying long, just enough to wish the Inquisitor a happy name day and give her the necklace from Val Royeaux. He had enough to do without wasting time at the tavern. He reached into his desk drawer, now free of the blighted philter, and pulled out the velvet bag to scrutinise the gift. He had  _thought_  the horse was a symbol of House Trevelyan when he bought it, and a quick trip to the library upon his return confirmed his hunch. But still, she might not like the style, or maybe she never wore necklaces, or perhaps she would think it inappropriate…

The door opposite him creaked open, revealing the Inquisitor herself. Cullen dropped the necklace back into its bag and shoved it firmly into the drawer, hoping she hadn’t seen anything. He picked up a quill and hurriedly continued writing the report he was on.

“Excuse me, Commander,” she said, voice tentative.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” He kept his eyes on his report, trying to look busy.

“I uh, wanted to thank you for coming to meet us Val Royeaux.”

He looked up at her now. “Of course. It was no trouble.”

“Well, I’m sure you had other things to do. Leliana could have sent the report with a raven along with a note if she wanted to.”

 _She could have, couldn’t she? And yet she instructed_ me _to go…_

Cullen’s suspicion of the Spymaster increased.

“It was nice to see a friend there, and to get your advice on the matter. So, thank you.”

She smiled at him, and he could only smile back. Her long hair, usually restrained in some sort of practical style, hung down her shoulders, framing her face in a very pretty way. They fell into an easy conversation, the Inquisitor asking about his collection of books, he asking her for thoughts on his military plans. He was just about to attempt to ask as casually as possible if she was fond of necklaces, when a harried Josephine burst in.

“Oh, Inquisitor! There you are.”

Cullen whirled around to his window to gauge the time of day; it could not have been half an hour before sunset. He was not  _yet_  late to the surprise party.

“Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry Josie, were you looking for me?”

“I was… yes, I just had to ask you about one of the leaders of the Freemen you encountered on your last journey.”

While Elowen answered, Josephine made meaningful looks at Cullen, attempting to subtly jerk her head in the direction of the tavern. He nodded in response, hoping they understood each other.

“Thank you, Inquisitor, that is very helpful. I was wondering, by the way, what your plans are for this evening?” She asked, entirely failing to be subtle. Luckily it seemed like Elowen had no idea about the party, and she didn’t seem to think the question was too unusual.

“Nothing in particular, Josie.” She turned to face Cullen. “I should probably stop annoying our Commander here, though! I am sure I’ve taken up enough of his time this evening.”

Josephine made eyes at him again and he struggled to understand. “No, Inquisitor…” He attempted. “You are perfectly welcome…?” Josephine nodded enthusiastically behind Elowen. “To annoy me as much as you like.”

Elowen gave him a little smile and he felt his face heating. He supposed Leliana at least would approve of this turn of events.

“I ought to get back to work, myself,” Josephine said. “Good evening, Inquisitor; Commander.”

Josephine left in a hurry. Elowen  _was_  slowing down his work a little, perhaps, but it saved him writing whole reports to her when she was standing right there. They sank back into their previous conversation, Cullen keeping an eye on the angle of the sun.

A messenger handed him a report after about ten minutes, “From Ambassador Montilyet, Ser. For your eyes only,” he said.

_Commander,_

_Please take the Inquisitor to the Herald’s Rest at sunset tonight. Do not tell her about the surprise party!_

_Josephine_

Cullen stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the unnecessary message and tried to think of a way to lure the Inquisitor to the tavern. Planning training exercises there? No, that was ridiculous. A meeting with Bull and the Chargers? No, not this late in the day…

_I could just ask her to have a drink with me._

His stomach seemed to empty at the thought of inviting her for a drink, but the minutes were passing by and no more appropriate excuses came to mind. She was quiet now, reading one of his books, and he took a minute or two to work up the courage to ask.

“You know…” he began, and she looked up at him. “I could almost go for an ale.”

Her eyebrows rose further up her forehead than he’d ever seen them go. “Really?  _You_?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” He tried to sound nonchalant.

“A little, yes.”

“Well, uh… it’s true. What about you?”

“What  _about_  me?” She asked, looking genuinely confused.

Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, cursing himself for not using the meeting-with-Chargers excuse.

“Do you… want to have a drink with me?”

The eyebrows shot up again, but not so far this time. Cullen regretted asking as soon as he had opened his mouth.

“I mean…” He floundered, shuffling papers randomly on the desk. “That is, if you don’t have anything-”

“Yes.”

He looked up at her. “What?”

“Yes, let’s go get a drink.” She said quickly. Her face was as flushed as his felt. It was little comfort.

He dared a quick glance out the window: the sun had sunk below the horizon now. They were late.

“Alright,” he smiled. “Let’s go.”

She walked out the northern door ahead of him and he grabbed the necklace from his desk while her back was turned, placing it carefully in a pocket. Then he led her onto the battlements toward the tavern, careful to usher her down the stone stairs so that she didn’t go in via the attic. The cold mountain air helped cool his embarrassment.

“But Commander, I am sure you have no end of work to do. How will you ever catch up after a  _drink_?”

Her sarcasm lessened the tension a little but not enough that he thought he could match it.

“I’m sure I’ll cope,” he managed, as she pushed open the tavern door.

It was dark inside, and Elowen walked in, confused and unaware.

“What’s-”

“SURPRISE!”

Sparks shot down from the upper floors as the crowd sprang out from their hiding places. Magical fire quickly lit the candles in the tavern, illuminating the scene as her friends rushed forward to wish Elowen a happy name day. She hurried to Josephine on the other side of the tavern and gave the other woman a tight hug, and Cullen smiled to himself, his job done. He found Varric near the door and made his way to him.

“Nice going, Curly. We were wondering if she’d ever turn up.”

“I did my best,” Cullen argued defensively.

“I’m sure you did. Drink?”

“Please,” Cullen replied, and the dwarf headed over to the already packed bar. Cullen looked back into the crowd and caught Elowen’s eye, feeling guilty about the false pretences he used to bring her to the tavern. She made her way to him through the packed tavern.

_Maker, please don’t let her be angry._

He braced himself for the onslaught, but it didn’t come. She stood in front of him, looking unsure of what to say.

“I’m… oh, Maker, I’m so embarrassed! I feel like such an idiot now, hanging around in your office like a lost druffalo. You must have been dying to get me to leave.”

While she wasn’t angry, she seemed a little put out.

“Not really,” he admitted. “I… was enjoying your company.”

She gave him a smile like she didn’t believe him and moved to turn away. He reached out, gently grabbing her arm.

“Wait, I…”

She stared at him, eyes round with surprise. He let go of her immediately, but she didn’t leave him.

“I got you…” he fished around in his tunic for the velvet bag. “This.”

He handed her the bag and she began to open it. His heart beat hard in his throat.

“Oh, you really shouldn’t have, I didn’t…” she trailed off as she pulled on the long chain of the necklace, the little horse dangling in front of her eyes, shining in the candlelight. She bit her lip when she realised she hadn’t closed her mouth and looked up at him.

“This is beautiful,” she said, and Cullen believed her. “You… you didn’t need to… oh, thank you.”

He smiled, relieved he had made the right choice. “I am glad you like it,” he said quietly.

“Can I wear it now?” She looked down at her hands, struggling with the clasp. “I can’t… argh. Stupid fingers! Could you…”

She gave him the little chain while he chuckled.

“You be quiet,” she commanded.

She turned her back to him, hanging her head and lifting her hair over one shoulder to give him room. He pulled the necklace around her neck and began to fasten the clasp, letting his knuckles rest on her warm skin. He fumbled with the mechanism a little, too, but she waited patiently. Finally it was done.

“There,” he said.

She didn’t move right away. He let his fingertips drag lightly along her neck as he dropped the necklace into place. He realised how close they were, his thighs mere inches from the curve of her arse. And she still hadn’t moved away. He didn’t take his hand off her and, daring, ran it slowly down between her shoulder blades to rest at the small of her back.

Then she straightened her neck and Cullen was sure she’d leave in a hurry, disturbed by his touch. But she didn’t move away, only turned slowly, so his hand stroked around to her waist as she faced him. She reached up to touch his breastplate.

Her eyes were dark, asking a question she wouldn’t utter. He opened his mouth to attempt an answer, when–

“Here’s your drink, Curly!” They sprang apart at the sound of Varric’s voice. “I hope you like ale. Cabot’s giving it away tonight.” Cullen took the drink from Varric, trying not to look annoyed. “Happy name day, your Inquisitorialness!”

Elowen looked up from her shoes. “Thanks, Varric.”

“How old are you? I don’t  _think_  it’s old enough to be rude to ask.”

She gave a quiet laugh. “I hope not. I’m twenty seven today,” she answered. “I should, uh, probably mingle. You two take it easy, alright?”

Cullen watched her go with regret. He kept up conversation with Varric for a while as he drank his ale, the amber liquid soothing his jostled nerves, but he intended to leave as soon as possible.

He was nearly to the bottom of his tankard, peacefully anticipating the return to his office, when Josephine weaved her way over to them.

“Thank you so much for bringing the Inquisitor, Commander. I was worried my message hadn’t made it to you!”

“No, I received it. I wanted to make sure everyone would be here,” Cullen lied.

“Did you plan all this, Ruffles?” Varric indicated around the room.

“I did. I’m so glad she seems to like it.”

“Who wouldn’t? You’ve done a great job here. The Inquisition will be paying off the ale bill for months.”

Josephine laughed, a broad smile on her face. “I hope so. Not about the bill, of course. Thank you, Master Tethras.”

“Any time.”

Josephine continued. “The Inquisitor, she had entirely forgotten it was her name day. Preoccupied with Inquisition business, the poor thing.”

“Really?” Cullen asked, feeling somewhat guilty for the burden they had given her. She carried it well, but he couldn’t believe  _this_  would be the life she would have chosen for herself were she free to do so.

Josephine nodded. “Oh, how improprietous of me. Who am I to call the Inquisitor a ‘poor thing?’”

 _Indeed_.

Cullen had finished his drink. He had work to do. It was not his place to sit around drinking and mooning over said Inquisitor. He placed his tankard on the table with a definitive thud. “I should return to my duties.”

Josephine looked crestfallen. “You’ve only just arrived!”

“Yeah, Curly, live a little. The party’s just getting started.”

Cullen had no interest in experiencing the party’s maturation but buckled under Josephine’s pleading look. He excused himself to go get another ale, joining the bustling crowd around the bar.

_I suppose there’s no harm in one night off._

Cullen passed the night talking with officers he was close to and with soldiers he wouldn’t know anywhere. He remembered that he liked this: getting to know his people, learning about them, their ambitions and their fears. He hadn’t had much of chance to do that since their move to Skyhold, only venturing down to the main soldiers’ camp on the banks of the frozen river for morning training. He was ashamed to realise it, but he had come to think of them a little more like chess pieces than people. He hoped he could start to correct that lapse tonight.

After a few hours, the crush of people in the tavern had started to thin. Cullen had made his way through his fair share of drinks. It was the first time he’d let loose (if it could really be called “loose”) in Maker knows how long.

His eyes began to wander around the room for Elowen. He spotted her sitting at a corner table with Iron Bull, Krem, and Sera, laughing loudly at something Bull was saying. He ignored the rumble of jealousy in his chest and headed back to the bar for more ale. Cabot suggested he slow down and Cullen ignored him, selecting a seat next to Varric near the outer wall.

Varric sat there watching, talking to anyone who came along, no doubt seeing much more than he shared.

“Glad you stayed now, Curly?”

Cullen grunted in response, not  _glad_  but not unhappy. He stared out at the room, and his eyes were always pulled back to Elowen. He expected Varric to be watching the party as well, and was startled when he noticed that the dwarf’s eyes were on  _him_.

“Just go  _talk_  to her.”

Of  _course_  Varric knew, how could he not after Leliana’s insinuations in the great hall that afternoon?

Cullen didn’t bother denying anything this time. Not to Varric.

“She’s busy.”

“I thought  _you_  were busy.”

“I am, but no, she’s… with them.” Cullen gestured her direction half-heartedly. “I don’t want to  _interrupt_.” He finished, failing to keep the bitterness entirely from his voice.

Cullen respected the Iron Bull. He was a good leader to the Chargers and a skilled fighter himself. But his bawdy sense of humour made Cullen more than a little uncomfortable. Combined with Sera (who  _always_  made him uncomfortable, no less after the business with the desk) and alcohol,  _that_  conversation would be more sexual innuendo than he could handle, especially in front of the Inquisitor.

But then Bull threw his arm around her shoulders as he hooted at something she said and Cullen was on his feet, walking over to them.

“That’s the spirit, Curly!” Varric called out to him. Cullen ignored him.

Krem greeted him first. “Hey there, Commander. Enjoying yourself?”

“Well enough.”

“We were  _just_  talking about  _you_ , Cully-Wull’n” Sera slurred.

Cullen regretted approaching their table immediately.

“By the Maker… shut up, Sera!” Elowen hissed, a broad smile on her face. She faced Cullen and stood up from her chair, swaying slightly. “Please excuse her, Comm’nder. She’s had too much to drink.”

“You’re a  _dirty_  hypocrite, you are,” Sarah accused in response.

“You can have  _my_  seat, Commander. I’m going for another-”

Krem and Bull both jumped up, gently pushing Elowen back into her seat from either side.

“No, you don’t…”

“That’s probably enough for you tonight, Boss.”

Elowen reluctantly dropped back down to her seat. “What are you  _saying_  about? I’m having a  _good_  time…”

Cullen tentatively took a seat next to Sera.

“So, letting your hair down a little, eh, Cullen?” Bull asked, eyebrow raised.

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose I am.”

“How are you s’posed t’let  _this_  hair down?” Sera shoved both her hands into Cullen’s hair, ruffling it to laughs from the others. He swatted her away.

“Ugh. Perhaps not,” Cullen reconsidered. He smoothed his hair back down self-consciously.

Elowen was leaning against Krem’s shoulder, her eyes drooping.

“I think it might be your bed time, Your Worship,” Krem suggested.

“Mmm, might…”

“C’mon, Boss.” Bull stood, offering her his arm. “I’ll take you home.”

_No you don’t._

Cullen bolted up from his chair. “Actually, I uh, I was just leaving.”

A look of pure sadness swept over Elowen’s features. “Don’t  _go_ , Cullen…”

“That’s your job, then,” Bull said to Cullen, and he felt the pride of victory spread through his chest. Bull ushered Elowen out from the table and Cullen offered her his arm, which she clung to for dear life.

“Goodnight, erryone!” She cried to the room, and the dwindling crowd offered her their salutations and name day wishes as Cullen led her out to the courtyard.

Elowen wrapped her arms around herself in the night air. “Urgh, s’cold.”

Cullen resisted the urge to put his arm around her as he helped her slowly up the stairs to the great hall. He would not exploit her drunken state, not even with the rather good excuse of keeping her warm.

She made it up the stairs without a stumble, to Cullen’s amazement. They walked through the dim hall together slowly.

“Sera said… she said you want to drink ale with me,” Elowen said quietly. “But I know you didn’t really because… because there was a surprise.”

Cullen tried to think of a way to correct her, but couldn’t. He reasoned this was the drink talking.

“But then the  _necklace_. My  _house_ … and you…”

They had reached the door to her quarters and Cullen awkwardly nodded to the guard posted there. Elowen turned to him, close again, like before. Her face was pained.

“I don’t know if you…” she trailed off before collapsing into him with a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. He couldn’t feel her through his armour, but it gave him a warm feeling regardless.

Cullen put his arms around her shoulders gently, patting her on the back. He made eye contact with the guard, acknowledging her presence.

 _I will not take advantage of this_ , he repeated in his head. But a quiet thought interrupted:  _If I… what? She couldn’t possibly…_

Elowen pulled away, clearing her voice. She seemed to come back to herself somewhat.

“Thank you for escorting me here, Commander.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers, heart pounding in his chest.

_No harm in asking._

“If I  _what_?” He whispered.

She bit her lip, shaking her head, eyes wide. “Nothing… nothing,” she repeated decisively. “I’ll uh, see you tomorrow. G’night.”

“Goodnight,” he replied steadily, accepting her answer.

He watched the guard accompany her up the first flight of stairs before retreating to his own bed. Her actions that night – spending time in his office, accepting his ill-considered invitation for a drink and her sadness on learning it was a ruse, standing  _so close_  to him – brightened the spark of hope that her “ _I don’t know what I’d do without you_ ,” had ignited days before. She hadn’t actually admitted to having feelings for him, which kept him in doubt. But then again, neither had he, and his affection for her was growing every day.

_No. Impossible._

She would never want  _him_. Now she knew his past, his failures, his weakness. She had said he was ‘the strongest man she knew,’ but Cullen knew that wasn’t true. He had deceived her, like he’d deceived the rest of them into thinking he was worthy of his position. A woman like  _her_  does not deserve a flawed, wrecked man like him, whose memories and nightmares became indistinguishable and invaded his waking moments like water through cloth. She deserved someone of true strength and sound mind.

Cullen glanced at his desk on his way up the ladder to his ersatz bedroom and tried to calculate how much time he had spent thinking of her over the last few days. He didn’t settle on a number, but it was too much. He had to do something about this.

 _Maybe I_ could _“make my move.”_   _Then, at least, I can hear it from her own mouth, and I can put this foolishness to rest._

He resolved to do it. He had faced demons, abominations, and maddened templars; he would not be afraid of  _rejection_ , for Andraste’s sake. If nothing else, it would stop Leliana’s meddling.

He fell asleep remembering the look in Elowen’s eyes as she examined the golden necklace, holding it in his mind like a stolen charm to ward off the nightmares. It didn’t work, but he liked it nonetheless.

Cullen spent the next morning filling out requisition forms, directing training exercises, and reading an endless supply of reports. In his spare moments he planned how he could get Elowen alone, the right words to confess his feelings to her. Despite his conviction that she’d reject him, he couldn’t help but want to give the best impression. She had become a good friend over the past few months, if nothing more, and he didn’t want to jeopardise what they did have.

_Certainly not another offer of drinks… perhaps a walk on the battlements after dinner?_

Another meeting with the officers, his own practice to complete, a report written to Rylen.

 _‘You are…’ No, no… ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently…’ Ha, not_ just _recently. ‘I’ve come to care for you greatly. I wonder if you think you could ever feel the same?’ That will do. Something like that._

He was searching for a book on military strategy for ideas when his office door opened and  _her_  voice rang out in the stone room.

“Cullen, do you have a moment?”

He worked to remember how to speak. “Uh, yes, of course. What do you need?”

“I just wanted to…” the Inquisitor inhaled and exhaled, looking bashful and distinctly tired. “Thank you for um… taking me back to my quarters last night. I hear I was in quite a state.”

He chuckled, abandoning his search for the book. “It was my pleasure. You didn’t seem  _too_  unwell to me. You don’t remember?”

“Not… a lot.” A flush crept into her cheeks and she let her eyes fall.

“Don’t worry. You didn’t make a fool of yourself.”

“Didn’t I?” Hopeful now. “The way Sera tells it, I was dancing on the tables in my smallclothes.”

It was Cullen’s turn to blush. “No,” he said, and she smiled at his repudiation. “I would have remembered  _that_ ,” he mumbled.

“I really must stop interrupting you like this. I, uh, I hope you’re not too busy…” Deep breaths again, avoiding his eyes. “I thought we could talk.”

Cullen made to acquiesce, happy at the prospect of another afternoon in her company. But then she added, “Alone?”

That was something else.

“Alone? I- I mean, of course.”

They walked along the battlements together, saying nothing, Cullen waiting for the number of  _people_  to decrease enough to give them a modicum of privacy. He had been counting on another few hours before he had to face her. He tried to remember what it was he’d planned on saying to her and failed, panic rising in his throat.

“It’s a nice day,” he blurted out, kicking himself immediately.

“What?”

“It’s…”  _She doesn’t care about the weather._  “There was something you wished to discuss.”

She took a shaky breath. “I find myself thinking of you.”

Cullen’s heart stopped.

_Maker, could it be possible?_

“More than… well, all the time, really.”

He had hoped, imagined, but he hadn’t really believed she could possibly care for him. Not like this. After what he’d told her…

Yet here she was, quivering with the anxiety  _he_  felt, telling him what he had been preparing to tell her.

_Say something!_

“I- I can’t say I haven’t wondered what I would say to you in this sort of situation.”

She seemed a little less nervous at that, leaning against the ramparts, the white mountains and blue sky behind her.

She tilted her head and gave him a very shy smile. After a pause, she said, “Why don’t you say it?”

“You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. And you…” He took a step closer to her, despite the shame of his weakness. “You haven’t always seen me in the best light.”

“But… here I am.”

“So you are.”

He could hardly believe it. He took another step, and another, and  _she wasn’t moving away._

“It seems too much to ask,” He reached out, gently pushing her against the stone by her hips, feeling her warmth through his gloves. Her eyes fell to his lips, back up to his eyes.

“But I want to.”

 _Maker, I want to_.

He moved closer, slowly, and she leaned upward as she closed her eyes, then–

“Commander!”

Cullen’s eyes snapped open. Elowen looked down at her feet, cheeks flaming. He dropped his head back in frustration before turning to face the intruder.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report.”

“ _What_?” Cullen snarled.

“Sister Leliana’s report? You wanted it delivered ‘without delay.’”

Cullen glowered at the scout, willing him to go away. Elowen would surely come to her senses and leave him if he spoke too many more words aloud.

The poor scout looked terrified, finally realising what he’d interrupted. “Or… to your office? Right,” he said as he backed away. Cullen watched him, making sure he left.

Cullen returned his attention to Elowen. She opened her mouth to speak and he crushed his lips against hers, cradling her face in his hands, pushing her body against the ramparts with his. He knew he shouldn’t, sure this couldn’t be what she wanted, but he savoured the feeling of her lips for another few seconds.

And then she was kissing back, wanting, her hands grasping his sides. He pulled away, dropping his hands, a little dazed.

“I’m sorry! That was, um… really nice.”

“You don’t regret it, do you?” She looked startled, and  _still_  nervous.

 _How could_ she _be worried about what_  I _think?_

“No! No. Not at all,” he whispered.

Elowen smiled and Cullen circled his arms around her waist, tilting his head to kiss her properly, softly. This time she surged up to meet him, her lips warm and sweet. He felt her reach up to his cheek, her gentle fingers loud over his ear before they tangled in his hair. He grasped at her back almost involuntarily, detecting dense muscle and bone under soft skin under  _tiresome_  fabric.

The Inquisitor – no,  _Elowen_  – let out a soft whimper as he gently pulled her top lip between his. He smiled into her mouth as he pulled her closer, their legs interlocking. She opened her lips for him, just enough that he felt the gentle stroke of her tongue on his bottom lip before she gave it a gentle bite. He  _groaned_  quietly, making him suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the clinking of armoured footsteps along the walkway behind him.

He pulled away slowly, both of them breathless. She dropped into his arms. He could hardly believe it. He would have thought it was a dream, if he ever had dreams like  _that_.

“Perhaps we should… continue this another time?” He suggested.

She giggled into his breastplate and his heart thumped in response. “I think you’re right.”

They walked side-by-side back to his office, Elowen looking at the ground with each passer-by, Cullen meeting everyone’s eye. Both wore careless smiles.

She left him at his desk, to his regret.

“I really think I have taken up enough of your time now, Commander. We can’t have the Inquisition’s armies falling apart because their Commander was busy  _fraternising_.”

“Who am I, to deny the Inquisitor?” He replied with a smirk.

She gave him a sarcastic smile as she closed the door behind her.

 _Back to work_.

He sighed, returning to his search for the blighted tactics book. But that afternoon, no matter how tedious the paperwork, no matter how long the meetings, nothing could take the smile from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, the awkwardness! Phew :)
> 
> This will keep burning slowly despite this recent spark, or something. I can't metaphor.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to rebuild their friendship, Elowen takes Blackwall to investigate Emprise du Lion. What she finds there was more than she bargained for.

Elowen

Elowen had judged Blackwall, as he still preferred to be called, to be a changed man. While he had received no punishment for his deception of those under his command and his orders to kill civilians, it was clear he felt the heavy weight of remorse. He had almost tried to argue her into letting him be executed, which was evidence enough for her that he was reformed. The idea that a guilty man could become so changed under the power of his own conscience was an inspiration to her, and she chose to free him to atone for his past. She was truly glad when he decided to continue on with the Inquisition.

Nevertheless, the trust Elowen had for Blackwall was damaged. She had chosen him to accompany her, along with Sera and Dorian, on an expedition to the Western Approach to complete some unfinished business before investigating the red templar presence in Emprise du Lion. She hoped to get to know Blackwall better as he really was, although she suspected he would not really be very different to Blackwall-the-Warden.

They also aimed to investigate a quarry for Cullen. The Commander, with Leliana’s assistance, had followed up on the information gleaned from the smuggler’s letters from the Emerald Graves to identify the quarry as the red templars’ primary source of red lyrium. Disrupting the red lyrium supply would have obvious benefits for the Inquisition, and when they arrived in Sahrnia, they learned that many of the townspeople had been taken by force to mine the blighted mineral. On top of that, Ser Michel de Chevin (of all people) had informed them that a demon named Imshael was controlling the red templars from their stronghold of Suledin Keep. It was clear that the Inquisition’s help was sorely needed in the Emprise.

Elowen and her companions set out from Sahrnia searching for red templars. She enjoyed the cold air. It kept her awake and energetic, and now, evoked the fresh memories of that sweet afternoon on Skyhold’s battlements with Cullen. While she had been aware (painfully, awkwardly aware) of her feelings for him for some months now, their deepening friendship had only increased her infatuation. When he had invited her for a drink at the tavern on her name day, she could hardly believe it. The focused, dedicated Commander, wanting clumsy, bumbling  _Elowen_? Ridiculous. When her friends surprised her and wished her a happy name day, she knew it had been too good to be true. He would only want her in her imagination, behind the thick walls of her tower.

But then he had given her a beautiful necklace holding a golden horse, and she couldn’t let go of the hope that maybe he had thought about her, too. Sera’s insistence that “Oh ho, he  _definitely_ wants into those leathers of yours,” upon being asked for advice didn’t help matters.

Elowen had decided to tell him her feelings the next day. “Do it, your worship,” Krem had instructed. “No point keeping quiet if it won’t get you what you want.”  She had already embarrassed herself that night, what was the harm in a little more humiliation? If nothing else, the rejection would snap her out of her foolish daydreams and get her back to concentrating on the Inquisition, instead of broad shoulders and golden eyes.

But then  _he_  had kissed  _her_ , hard and craving, and it was like the protective shell she’d built around her mind had cracked, letting hope and joy flood in.

As they walked across the frozen Elfsblood, Elowen felt the little horse on her chest, warm from her skin, and smiled to herself.

“What are  _you_  so pleased about?” Sera asked, peering suspiciously at Elowen.

“Pleased? I, um… It’s a nice day, that’s all.”

“No, it’s not. It’s frigging horrible.”

Elowen giggled. It  _was_  snowing. Dorian was walking ahead of them with Blackwall, and he turned around to face Elowen.

“You know, I heard a rumour about you,” he taunted, one eyebrow raised.

“Not the one about you and me again, is it?”

“I’m afraid not. It seems I may not be seducing the Inquisitor for my evil Tevinter purposes after all.”

Blackwall scoffed at that.

“No,” Dorian continued. “ _I’ve_  heard you have a thing for strapping young templars.”

Elowen’s face grew hot. “Templars?”

Cullen was not really a templar anymore, and she was not sure she’d call him “young,” but  _strapping_ … perhaps.

“Where did you…”

“Ooh, did you  _finally_  pork Cullen?” Sera questioned.

“No!” Elowen protested, properly mortified now. “Can you  _please_  not-”

“Cullen-Wullen?” the elf teased.

Dorian chuckled. “I think it’s rather adorable.”

Elowen refused to answer, stomping ahead with a huff and shooting a hapless snoufleur for the tent requisition.

“You don’t laugh like a Tevinter,” she heard Sera say accusingly to Dorian.

“How is a Tevinter supposed to laugh, exactly?” He enquired.

“Cruel and stupid, like…” Sera let out an evil cackle to demonstrate, earning laughs from Blackwall and Elowen.

She appreciated the change of subject.

“Oh, no. You’re not allowed to laugh like that until you get your magister license.”

“Knew it! Varric owes me a sovereign.”

In her latest report sent to her advisors detailing their progress in Emprise du Lion, Elowen had included a message addressed specifically to Cullen. She was confused about what  _they_  were. They hadn’t spoken about it since he kissed her, her having left so soon afterward. Although his liberal smiles had kept her hopes alive, she felt a little unsure about what exactly he felt for her. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him she missed him, that she  _wanted_  him, on paper, so she settled for an attempt at coy teasing.

_Commander,_

_I regret to inform you that we are not doing well in Emprise du Lion. My companions are excellent fighters, but I am afraid I let them all down. In battle I am slow and clumsy because I cannot stop myself from thinking about you. The demons do not get a second thought._

_I humbly request your advice on this issue._

_I remain sincerely yours,_

_Elowen Trevelyan, Inquisitor._

They had set up camp at Drakon’s rise by the time she received a reply along with the report summarising the Inquisition’s activities during her absence from her advisors. It was in an envelope addressed to her, as “Inquisitor,” and Elowen’s heart raced when she recognised Cullen’s handwriting. She hurried to her tent with the excuse of “I can concentrate on these reports much better when I’m alone.” She pulled open the envelope, anxiety intensifying until she read the short note.

_Dear Inquisitor,_

_I am familiar with your predicament. I suffer from it myself. I recommend a thorough kissing to relieve the symptoms._

_Cullen_

Elowen grinned into her hand and read the letter three times over before she attempted to read the report. Then she read the letter again. The fear that his kiss was just meaningless fun still seemed very reasonable to her. Even if Cullen didn’t really seem the type for “meaningless fun.” But his letter as well as said he was thinking of her, too, and her nerves calmed a little.

_“A thorough kissing?” Maker…_

She forced thoughts of their previous thorough kissing out of her mind as she concentrated on the advisors’ report. She had already written her next report to them, and she added her input to their questions as a post-script before settling down to ponder over how to reply to Cullen. After much deliberation, she decided to continue the teasing. It was safer that way.

_Commander,_

_Thank you kindly for your advice. I will put it into practice immediately. Since you are not available to assist with my treatment, who do you think is the better option: Sera or Dorian? I must cure myself of this awful affliction as soon as possible._

_Sincerely,_

_Elowen Trevelyan, Inquisitor._

Outside, she handed her report and her enveloped letter to a messenger, grinning uncontrollably.

“Yes, your worship. Are… are you alright?” He hazarded.

“What? Yes, I’m fine!” She replied chirpily, no doubt leaving the messenger with a poor impression of her sanity.

They rested for a day while the Inquisition reinforcements arrived at the camp before setting forth toward the Tower of Bone. The red templars were even more numerous as they pressed ahead, and while she  _was_  keeping up, Elowen began to wonder how many more they would have to deal with before their time in Emprise du Lion was over. The demons from the fade rifts were nastier here, too: pride demons stomped around on the snowy ground like they owned the place. They returned to the Drakon’s Rise camp frequently for the first few days of their progression, and Elowen asked the requisition officer each time whether there was any message for her. Each time she was denied. She didn’t mind; Cullen had a busy job to do. He couldn’t very well sit around writing her love letters all day, and she certainly wouldn’t want him to. Not  _really_.

They set up camp immediately at the Tower of Bone after the red templars were dealt with, behemoths and all. The red templars had a strong foothold here, but the Inquisition’s forces poured into the camp by the day, holding the area.

As the camp grew, Elowen and her party set to raiding the quarry to the south. The templars had kidnapped dozens of villagers, forcing them to work and keeping them in large cages. Elowen was disgusted, and Sera didn’t bother to contain her abuse of Mistress Poulin. They took out the lieutenants with some effort, their frequent injuries being patched up by healing potions throughout the battles. Thankfully, none of the villagers were hurt in the fighting. They liberated the workers, smashing any red lyrium veins they could find.

Amongst the scaffolding of the quarry, they found a number of letters sent to the lieutenants by Samson himself, describing the process of infecting people with the blighted mineral and some sort of red lyrium armour that Samson wore. The letters seemed earnest and encouraging in tone, and Elowen wondered if Samson truly believed in Corypheus’s cause, or if it was a cynical grab for power.

They returned to the Tower Camp, exhausted and battered. Elowen was about to enter her tent for a much-needed nap when a scout approached her.

“Your worship, messages for you.”

She took the report from the scout eagerly, impatient for news from Skyhold.

“And this, your worship.” The scout offered her a small envelope, “Inquisitor” written in Cullen’s neat letters on its front. Elowen’s heart leapt as she received the envelope with a “Thank you very much.” The scout gave her a respectful salute as she slipped inside her tent, unfolding the thick parchment of the letter.

_Elowen,_

_You are unbearable. Please don’t kiss anyone until you’re back._

_Cullen_

Her head swam and she sank onto her bedroll to keep her balance. She regretted her previous teasing, unnecessary as it turned out to be. But his informal, direct tone left her no doubt of whether he wanted her and she ached to see him again. Still too shy to tell him that directly, though, she wrote a short note, even its tiny confession evoking an unpleasant feeling of vulnerability.

_Dear Cullen,_

_I am sorry. I miss you._

_Elowen_

She took the letter directly to a messenger so that she wouldn’t attempt to re-write it. Back in her tent, she reviewed the report from Skyhold, pleased at their further progress. The Inquisition’s soldiers had collaborated with the Imperial Army on a number of campaigns and the alliance with Orlais was stronger than ever as a result. Leliana’s agents had also reported that Corypheus’s armies seemed to be retreating from Ferelden and Orlais. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen. Elowen added her comments on the last report to her reply, attaching the letters from Samson with a note of her own. She handed this report to the messengers as well, finally ready for a nap.

Having cleared out Sahrnia Quarry, Elowen and her companions pressed westward toward Suledin Keep. The red templars had been driven back, desperate. They fought all the more fiercely. Their archers were ruthless, flying piercing arrows into them from higher ground. Blackwall could block them with his shield well enough, but Elowen, Sera, and Dorian had only their armour to rely on.

Concentrating down the shaft of her own nocked arrow, Elowen was struck, the enemy’s arrow finding its home in her thigh. She swore loudly, pulling it from her leg, quickly reaching for a healing potion to stem the bleeding. She took down her attacker with a few well-placed shots of her own before turning her attention to the knight locked in a stalemate with Blackwall.

Eventually, they came across the caged corpse of a giant, red lyrium sprouting from its back like some sort of grotesque sapling. Notes were scattered around detailing the red templars’ experiments on infecting giants, preparing them for what was to come. The first infected giant was manageable; after they took down the templars with arrows, Blackwall kept the giant’s attention while Sera, Dorian, and Elowen had a clear line of sight for their ranged attacks down the ruined avenue.

But the second giant caught them off guard. Crumbling walls and thick trees blocked their view as red templars ambushed them, and even this fight was a close call. The giant lumbered out of some part of the ruin hidden from view when they had only managed to take down two of the dozen templars. Elowen shouted to Sera to rain a hail of arrows down on the beast while Blackwall held its attention. A group of red templar horrors crowded around Dorian while Blackwall was distracting the giant, and the mage was knocked out cold.

“Help Dorian!” Elowen cried to Sera, who hurried over to help him up, dodging enemy fire in the shadow of a smoke bomb.

Elowen used the anchor to open a rift above the giant in a desperate attempt to deal  _some_  damage. But then the horrors were after  _her_ , and she dodged their attacks, rolling away in the snow. They kept advancing on her and she leapt back, shooting a volley of arrows into their midst.

“Someone, help!” She yelled desperately, the horrors gaining on her. One struck her in the head and she fought to keep her balance, the world spinning. She shot an arrow into its face and it fell, but two others were still after her.

She saw Blackwall abandon the giant to run in her direction and she fought on, knowing he could cut them down with a few swings of his sword. But then Dorian’s voice called out, stricken with panic.

“Elowen, look out!”

She turned her head to see a boulder flying toward her. She attempted to move out of its way, but there was no time. She was thrown off her feet into the snow, everything pain and cold and darkness.

Elowen awoke, her head throbbing. She was in a tent, green. Inquisition? That was good. She tried to sit up to look around her, but white hot pain blossomed through her abdomen. She gasped out Andraste’s name in vain and she struggled to keep conscious, her forearm over her eyes.

“You’re awake?” Cassandra’s voice came from beside her.

“Cassandra?” Her own voice was quiet, breath weak.

“Yes, I’m here.”

It was definitely Cassandra’s voice. “Where are we?”

“At the Tower Camp in Emprise du Lion. Do you remember it?”

“Yes. What happened?”

“You were struck by a giant’s boulder.”

Elowen believed her. They were silent for a time and Elowen opened her eyes again, vision returning, the pain developing into a dull, throbbing ache in her core. She turned her head to the side, looking for the Seeker. She was sitting on a stool just inside the tent flap opposite Elowen’s cot.

“What are you doing here?” She asked.

“I came as soon as I heard. To see you for myself.” Cassandra’s voice softened in the second sentence, as close to affection as Elowen had ever heard from her. She was touched.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“We have healers coming as soon as possible. They should be here by the evening.”

Elowen had no idea what time of day it was, but healers sounded good regardless. “How bad is it?”

Cassandra didn’t answer immediately, her face hard.

“Cassandra?”

“They will be here soon.” She repeated stoically. “I expect the others will want to see you. Shall I let them in?”

“Alright,” Elowen answered, a little perplexed.

Cassandra stood and left the tent, calling for Dorian. Elowen wondered what was wrong with her that could cause such pain, and she began to lift the blankets covering her, careful not to press on her midsection.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came Dorian’s voice as she started rolling up the unfamiliar undershirt someone must have dressed her in.

“Why not?”

“You’re not really my type. Also, most people don’t much enjoy the sight of their own injuries. _I_ certainly didn’t enjoy yours.”

She pulled the shirt back down, convinced. “How bad is it? Cassandra wouldn’t tell me.”

Dorian’s tanned face seemed to pale a little. “The healers will be here soon,” he echoed.

Elowen felt like she should be panicking, but the exhaustion in her body suppressed it.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he admitted. He knelt next to her and pulled the blankets back over her. “It’s cold,” he explained.

“In Emprise du Lion? You don’t say,” she joked, her weak voice inapt to pull off humour.

Dorian gave her a smile anyway. He held up a collection of papers. “I’ve been collecting the reports from Skyhold and writing up our own with Cassandra’s help. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, of course not. Thank you so much.”

“I’d say ‘any time,’ but actually, I’d really rather this never happened again, if that’s alright with you. I’ll leave the reports here,” he placed the papers on the bedside table. “If you want to read them. There are a couple of letters for you there, too.”

She thanked him again. Sera barged in then, followed by Blackwall. The three of them kept her company for a while, bantering about nothing in particular. Blackwall didn’t say much, just stood with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed near the entrance to the tent. At least Sera seemed her usual self, that is, completely inappropriate. It was exactly what Elowen needed. But she was soon struggling to keep her eyes open, fatigue setting in. She asked Dorian to go through the paperwork with her, and the others left them to it. He gave her a brief summary of each report.

She was pleased to have such capable friends with her, glad to know the Inquisition would be alright without her for a few days. Since being declared Inquisitor, the effort of carrying the hopes and fears of so many people would sometimes seem to press down on her, and her heart would thunder and her breath would come in short gasps, the terror of Corypheus’s future filling her mind. Dorian and Cassandra’s work over the last few days (three since her injury, she learned) had shown her that everything would continue on as it should even if she shared the load around. That thought calmed her as Dorian left, and she was settling down into her blankets to return to sleep when she remembered the letters in amongst the reports on the table.

She reached over to the pile of paperwork, careful to only use her arms in her movements, to search for any letters. She found two envelopes, and as she pulled them over to her face to read them, seeing Cullen’s handwriting was comforting. She opened the first letter.

_Dear Elowen,_

_I miss you, too. Come back to me soon._

_Cullen_

She smiled, the anxiety she had felt at admitting that she missed him seeming petty in her rather dire state. A feeling of still warmth flooded her as she read his words, and the pain in her belly seemed to lessen a little.

She opened the second letter. Cullen’s usually neat, blocky script had become more rushed in the second note, the letters running together, ink smudged in places. Multiple false starts were scratched out.

_Elowen,_

_~~When I heard~~ _

_~~I cannot~~ _

_~~My duties keep me~~ _

_Please write to me as soon as you are able. If there is anything within my power you need, ask it of me. I beg you._

_I pray to the Maker for your safe return._

_Cullen_

Elowen read the letter with drooping eyelids, missing the desperation in his words in her drained state. All she wanted from him was his presence, and she knew he was far too busy for that.

Her eyes closed and the letter slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the ground without a sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've joined the ranks of the employed. I have another six chapters written already so there shouldn't be any delays, but uploads might be a bit less regular.
> 
> This chapter is inspired by my actual rogue playthrough. I think I went to Emprise du Lion too early and managed to fake my way through the first giant by running out of its designated area whenever it came to attack. But that second infected giant was a killer. Obviously you run away to another area to level; the red templars won't regroup or anything in the meantime :P


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News of Elowen's injuries reach Skyhold. Cullen waits anxiously for her return.

Cullen

_Dear Cullen,_

_Thank you for your kind offer, but all I need is rest. The healers arrived here yesterday and worked their magic, so to speak, so I am writing to you now. I’m recovering well, don’t worry. We will leave for Skyhold in a few days._

_Elowen_

Cullen had received the message over a week ago. He couldn’t bring himself to reply. Their previous letters had seemed stupid and frivolous after he, Josephine, and Leliana received a report in Dorian’s hand over three weeks ago. It excused the Inquisitor for not writing herself, and described their progress in Emprise du Lion, before outlining Elowen’s injuries. Cullen read over her letter again, trying to let it calm him. But the description of her injuries in Dorian’s report wouldn’t leave him: boulder impact, blunt trauma, broken ribs, severe bruising, still unconscious. Critically injured.

Cassandra had gone to her. Cullen had wanted to,  _needed_  to, but his duties were at Skyhold. What use was  _he_  if the Inquisitor died? The Seeker insisted he stay, and after a short but loud argument, he relented, hating himself for it. He sent a guard of soldiers with her instead. Leliana arranged to send healers from among the Inquisition’s mages as soon as they received the report, but it was two days’ journey to their camp in eastern Orlais. What if she didn’t make it that long? For a week he had paced his office restlessly, snapping at messengers, arguing with officers, until a nervous scout knocked on his door with a letter for him, his name written in her handwriting. Her letter let him  _know_  that she would probably survive, but he would find it hard to  _believe_  until he saw her again.

While he waited, her face became a permanent feature in his nightmares, the usual horrors amplified by her broken body among them. He would see her on the battlements of Skyhold, windswept and beautiful. He would kiss her, and she would fall away, battered and lifeless in his arms.

Cullen slept as little as possible, clambering up the ladder from his office hours after soldiers stopped asking after him and rising before the sun. The need for lyrium in his muscles, largely faded since its peak a month or so ago, made a tentative comeback.

They should have returned a day or two ago. She was injured; they would be slow. A raven had been sent forward with the report that the Inquisitor’s party had left Sahrnia and the advisors had received that message three days ago. Cullen’s spare time was occupied with searching for her party through his window and hacking training dummies to pieces.

Finally, blessedly, he spied Dorian’s bright red robe on the Skyhold’s bridge. He was accompanied by the slight figure of what was probably Sera, followed by Cassandra’s proud silhouette. Walking next to the Seeker, slowly, was the Inquisitor. Blackwall followed the party, and a gaggle of mages and soldiers ended the procession.

Cullen dropped his forehead onto his palms at his desk. He controlled the urge to run down to her, to see for himself that she was alright. Alive and warm, not cold and broken like in his dreams.

He forced those thoughts away. She would be bombarded with people as soon as she walked in the gates; she didn’t need  _him_  adding to the crowd of requests and favours. Besides, he had no special right to her attention. He had no idea what their relationship even was. Or if she wanted one at all…

He pretended to read one of Rylen’s reports for as long as he could before he broke and ripped open his office door to march across the bridge toward the keep.

The door to the rookery tower opened when he was halfway across the bridge. Elowen stood in the doorway, still wearing her armour, smiling when she saw him.  _Alive._  Cullen stopped in his tracks, scrutinising her movements for any obvious injury as she approached him.

“Cullen? Are you alright?” Her eyes were wide, watching him carefully.

He realised he was probably staring. He tried to relax his face.

“How are  _you_?” He asked quietly.

“I’m quite well, thank you.”

“ _Quite well_?” He was incredulous.

 _Critically injured_.

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I was healed, remember? I’m still bruised and I’m pretty tired, but I’m fine now.”

She did  _look_  fine. Cullen rubbed his forehead in his hand.

“ _You_ , though. You look awful. I mean… tired.”

He probably did look awful.

“I… I was…” He tried, but the words didn’t come.

“Am I… in your way?” She asked hesitantly.

“No.”

He moved toward her slowly, reaching up to touch one cheek, then cradling her face in both his hands. He swallowed, waiting for a few seconds, in case this wasn’t what she wanted anymore. She looked at him, eyes round and  _alive_ , and he slowly moved in to kiss her mouth. Her lips pushed back against his.

Cullen pulled back to look at her. She smiled at him, still alive. Not bruised and dead in his arms. He smiled back.

She slid her arms around his waist. He felt solid, like Elowen was holding him safely in reality.

“ _Are_  you alright?” She asked softly.

“Yes. I will be. I’ve had… you are…”

_Words!_

“I was-”

Elowen touched a forefinger to his lips. “You don’t have to explain. As long as you’re alright.”

He exhaled and she pulled away, indicating to the rookery tower. “Were you going this way?”

“Not really, I was just… looking for you,” he admitted.

She smiled again. “I was looking for  _you_. I was thinking of calling a council. Come with me?”

He nodded, grateful for an excuse to stay with her, and they walked into the keep together.

* * *

 

Cullen reported on the Inquisition’s military activities at the war council. Relatively little had happened in Elowen’s absence. He was on top of his paperwork for the first time in months because of it. One small blessing.

As Leliana and Josephine updated her on their work, Cullen indulged his childish desire to just look at her. He had refrained before, self-control overpowering desire. But now she knew his feelings, and against all reason, she said she returned them. She caught his eye from time to time and tried to hide her smiles.

“I believe that’s everything for today, Inquisitor,” Josephine declared after an hour or so. “Unless you have anything else to add, Commander?”

Cullen quickly recovered his alertness after the hour of listening. “I do. I’ve been reading the letters Elowen found in Sahrnia Quarry.” His mood turned dark as he recalled the letters’ contents. “Samson is making red lyrium from  _people_?”

Elowen shook her head. “Not anymore. Not there.”

“I knew Samson had fallen, but this? It’s monstrous.”

When he had seen Samson atop the crag with Corypheus at Haven, Cullen hardly believed his eyes. Corrupting innocent people with this poison… he could not be the man he once was. Or perhaps he had  _always_  been that man? Cullen hardly knew.

“We  _have_  to put an end to him,” he went on. “Look at these orders from the encampment. That armour must give Samson extraordinary power. We may not be able to stop him.”

Elowen fixed him with a stern look. “What was it you told me once about seemingly impossible tasks?”

Cullen felt a little glow of positivity despite himself. He sighed and gave her a smile, ignoring Leliana’s arching eyebrow.

“If we can’t defeat him,” Elowen continued, “ _No one_  stands a chance.”

“Then we must destroy the armour.” He shook his head in frustration. “I couldn’t say how. Templars are trained  _not_  to destroy expensive magical equipment.”

“Perhaps Dagna may have some ideas? Her expertise in magical artifacts may be relevant,” Leliana suggested.

“That’s a good idea,” Elowen responded. “I’ll bring it up with her. So, is that everything?”

At the advisors’ agreement, the council ended. Cullen moved to walk with Elowen, hoping to spend a few more moments with her before they both returned to their work. To his chagrin, Leliana caught her arm instead, speaking to her in a low voice ahead of him. Elowen cast him a backwards glance as the two women turned toward left when they reached the great hall. He gave her a wave as he turned to the right, catching Leliana’s eyes on him as well.

He tried not to feel concerned about what the Spymaster was whispering to the Inquisitor as he marched to his office. He succeeded, more or less. Since Elowen’s return to Skyhold that morning his mood had been steadily improving, to the point of becoming downright optimistic, despite his exhaustion. He sat down at his desk to face the small pile of reports that had gathered over the past couple of hours. He pulled out the bottom-most piece of parchment, feeling hopeful for the first time in over a week.

* * *

 

That evening, Cullen headed down to the Herald’s Rest for a meeting with Bull and the Chargers. It had become their usual meeting place. “No ale in your office, Commander,” it was explained when he asked about it. He pondered how the mercenary band managed to get anything done in their apparently permanently drunken state.

He ascended the stairs to the long table the Chargers used for their meetings, declining the offer of a drink when he sat down. Elowen had recently sent the Chargers out into Ferelden to run around wearing noisy boots and lighting decoy campfires to falsely inflate the Inquisition’s forces in the eyes of Corypheus’s minions. Hardly the most gallant mission, Cullen thought, but it seemed to have worked. He hoped their army would grow to match the inflated numbers in time.

Just as Cullen was about to leave, Krem spoke to him.

“How go things with you and Her Worship, Commander?” The Lieutenant asked, not bothering to keep his voice down.

Cullen baulked. “We, uh… things are fine.”  _Are they? What things?_  “Why do you ask?”

“That’s good to hear. I think I can take credit for her little confession.”

Gossip spread like wildfire through the barracks, and there were probably a dozen soldiers that had seen them on the battlements that day. But “confession” was too precise to be rumour.

“You ‘take credit’?”

“Sure. Poor thing was convinced you didn’t like her on her name day. We convinced her otherwise, after a few drinks. Not that it wasn’t obvious to anyone else.”

_Obvious?_

Cullen felt his ears reddening. “Anyone else? I don’t think-”

“ _Everyone_  else. You want her, bad. Don’t worry, Commander, there are plenty of others that share your opinion. Lucky for you,  _she_  wanted  _you_.” Krem finished with a wink.

Cullen was struck speechless for a moment at Krem’s directness. Then he grinned. “You have my thanks, then.”

“My pleasure, Commander,” Krem replied, raising his tankard.

As he descended the wooden staircase, Cullen spotted Elowen at the bar with Blackwall. As much as he wanted to talk to her (it had been  _hours_ ), he supposed he probably shouldn’t interrupt, and made his way back through the dark, chilly courtyard to his office.

Cullen had been surprised at Elowen’s decision to give Blackwall a second chance with the Inquisition. He certainly would not have done the same were it up to him. The way he’d misled the men under his command was despicable,  _unconscionable_. His deceit over the last few months was almost as damning. And yet, she’d forgiven him.

Cullen hadn’t spoken to Blackwall since before his arrest. He wondered whether the other man would find the strength to grow from this chance at redemption, or crumble without the mask of the Warden to hide behind.

With no more reports expected until morning, Cullen made a start on his own report on the Chargers’ work. Elowen was clearly busy at the moment, but perhaps he could give it to her in the morning.

_I wonder when she gets up. Maybe if I’m early enough she’ll be wearing that robe…_

Thoughts of long, soft hair on slippery green silk took over his thoughts. A knock on the door startled him out of his embarrassing reverie and he cleared his throat.

“Come in!”

“Evening,” came Elowen’s voice as she pushed the door open with her hips. She was carrying a pewter plate piled high with food.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?” She asked, as Cullen jumped out of his seat to help her close the door.

“No! No, of course not.” He feared for a moment that she had somehow sensed his daydream, but of course that was impossible. His attention was drawn back to the plate of food.

“What’s this?”

“Uh, well, Krem said you’d had a meeting at the tavern and you didn’t eat there, and I didn’t see you eat in the great hall today, so I thought I’d bring you some supper, in case you were hungry.” She spoke quickly, looking more embarrassed as she went on.

Cullen didn’t understand how  _she_  could feel insecure around  _him_ , but it produced a warm flush of affection in his chest anyway. He took the plate from her and placed it on his desk with a “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, and began to move away. “I’ll leave you to it, I can see you’re busy.”

“No! Stay,” he said, a little louder than he meant to. “I mean, if you don’t have something else to do. I was just writing a report for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“Alright. I just, well, now that we’re… I don’t want to be a distraction.”

_Not much you can do about that._

“You’re a  _distraction_  whether you’re here or not.”

She laughed, beginning to relax. “Eat,” she commanded.

Cullen sat at his desk and tucked in to the roast meat and vegetables, realising he  _was_  rather hungry. He would usually shove down a large breakfast after training in the morning, ignoring his hunger all day and trying to remember to eat in the evening. It probably wasn’t the healthiest diet, but he had work to do.

Elowen stood browsing his bookshelves as he told her about the Chargers’ mission between mouthfuls, his half-written report discarded. Before long, her eyes drifted to the corner of the room.

“You know, I’ve always wondered what’s up that ladder.”

“Its… nothing interesting.”

She raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

“You’re welcome to have a look yourself,” he insisted.

“I will, then,” she declared, as if calling his bluff, and climbed the ladder. Cullen realised that perhaps he  _should_  be a little embarrassed about what she’d find there when he heard her laugh from above him.

“Oh, Maker! Cullen, do you  _sleep_  here?”

“I… yes.”

“Half the roof’s missing! Isn’t it  _freezing_?”

He mopped up the last of his gravy with a roast potato. “Not always. It doesn’t snow  _that_  often.”

Elowen climbed back down the ladder, shaking her head in disbelief.

“You know we have plenty of rooms _without holes_ in the keep?”

“Yes, but that one’s right above my office.”

He smirked at the disbelieving look on her face.

“At least allow me to tell the buildmaster about the roof.”

“If you insist, Inquisitor.”

Cullen, finished his meal, finished his work, rose from his desk and walked toward her. It was late; no scouts would disturb them now. In the centre of the room she reached out to him, pulling herself close around his waist. He stroked up her arms to her shoulders, then down to her shoulder blades, making small circles with his fingers. She let out an appreciative little “Mmm,” before tilting her head back to look at him.

She had seen behind his mask of the Commander, knew how flawed he really was, and yet she chose to be standing there with her arms around him, a look on her face like wonder and delight.

_Real and safe and forgiving._

She was up on her toes kissing him without warning. He pressed back once he realised what was happening, chasing her lips for a second kiss as she pulled away from the first. He broke it and held her tight again, both arms around her shoulders.

Elowen tilted her head up to place little kisses along the pulse of his neck. He shuddered; it had been a long time since he’d felt  _that_ , and that edge between tickling and caressing started a heat deep in his belly.

He pulled away from her slightly so he could see her face for a moment before he claimed her parted lips with his. She pulled his bottom lip between her own. This was harder. He buried one hand in her hair, ruining the neat plaits. Her soft tongue brushed his as she opened her lips, letting them drag against each other.

She was pulling herself flush against him and he suddenly realised plate armour had its disadvantages. Just the heat of her body against his hips was enough to make his heart beat in his ears. He fought to keep his touch gentle, longing to feel her skin against his.

_Too much. It’s too much._

Cullen forced himself back to a disappointed little whimper from Elowen. He ran a thumb along her cheekbone as she looked up at him, eyes dark.

_Maker’s breath, those eyes._

“Sorry, I’m… it’s late.”

She pulled away from him, looking ashamed. “Oh.”

“No, it’s not…” he hurried, reaching for her again. “I want this… I want to do this properly,” he finished in a deliberate staccato.

She settled back into his arms. “Slowly, you mean?”

“Yes,” he replied, although his willpower was fading with every second.

It wasn’t that Cullen was inexperienced. Well, not completely. A series of furtive encounters with a fellow trainee templar, stressed under the threat of the sisters’ watchful eyes. A stranger in Kirkwall who seemed to need what Cullen could give, who disappeared as soon as she’d had it. Nothing like  _this_.

He sighed. “I’m not very good at this, am I? If I seem unsure, it’s because it’s been a long time since I wanted  _anyone_ in my life. I wasn’t expecting to find that here. Or you.”

“Neither was I,” she said with a smile.

He kissed her once more for good measure. Her lips softened against his.

“You’re right, though. It  _is_  late. And you looked like you were about to pass out this morning. Get some rest,” she started laughing. “Up there in your very  _convenient_  bedroom.”

“Would you permit me to escort you to your quarters, my lady?” He proposed with a mocking bow.

“How generous of you, Ser. I would be honoured,” she replied with a curtsey.

He offered her his arm and she took it. Cullen was secretly glad that she didn’t let it go after their joke had ended, and together they walked to the great hall through the rookery tower. Despite the hour, the hall was still populated by gossiping courtiers, guards, and of course, Varric.

Cullen left her on the dias next to the door to her tower. Despite their chaste goodnights, the courtiers’ whispers followed him back to the rookery door, and Varric’s knowing smirk only reinforced the smug grin on Cullen’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, fluff!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite her months at the Inquisition's helm, Elowen doubts her abilites as a leader, especially when Cassandra is around to show her what dedication looks like. The fact that she can't get Cullen off her mind doesn't improve her opinion of herself. When she returns to Skyhold from the Hissing Wastes, said Commander derails her intentions of being more dutiful.

Elowen

The Hissing Wastes was a desert, much like the Western Approach: hot and full of sand. Elowen and her party decided it would be best to travel at night to escape the heat and the burning sun, and in the moonlight, her opinion of deserts improved dramatically. The red rock and sand shone blue in the low light and the vast emptiness had a type of beauty. Not to mention that they could spot any Venatori easily, campfires like beacons guiding them to their quarry. The long travel time between activity led to Elowen turning to conversation, to keep her mind  _vaguely_  on track, but with Cole, Vivienne, and Cassandra with her, that was sometimes dangerous. Vivienne was plain in her disgust for Cole, and Cole’s lack of social awareness led to (rather one-sided) arguments between them. Cassandra’s impatience for petty quarrels would then put the Seeker in a foul mood, leaving Elowen floundering to keep her small party with some semblance of morale.

Elowen had resumed her campaign of charming (she hoped) letters to Cullen while in the desert, but with the distance between the Inquisition’s camps in the Hissing Wastes and Skyhold being so great, there were long waits between messages. She regretted it bitterly: flirting was much easier on paper than in person, where his golden eyes and distracting smiles would quickly turn her conversation from “charming” to “incoherent.”

She felt a little guilty using Inquisition resources to deliver her love letters, so she made sure to send them along with the reports to her advisors, or at least made sure to ask Cullen for any updates on the search for Samson. His last letter had contained a copy of Dagna’s report of her research into red lyrium.

_Elowen,_

_It is difficult picturing you battling a gurn in your smallclothes. I don’t believe it would attack the camp without provocation. Perhaps you could recreate the battle for me when you return? I need to understand exactly what happened. The troops have little training in combat without armour._

_Speaking of armour, Dagna has forwarded what she learned about Samson’s strange armour. I have attached a copy of her report. Her glee over her discovery is disconcerting, but the information may prove invaluable._

_In addition, I have some business with Arl Teagan in Redcliffe I would like to discuss with you. Please speak to me whenever is convenient when you return to Skyhold._

_I miss you._

_Cullen_

His maybe-joke kept a distracting heat smouldering inside. She read the letter over and over again while in the privacy of her tent, recalling it constantly as they walked. She had thought that admitting her feelings to him was going to be the first step in recovering from her infatuation. And three (three!) kisses and half a dozen letters later and she  _couldn’t stop thinking_  about his broad hands pressing on her hips, his thigh hard between hers as he claimed her mouth. She prayed Cole would keep her thoughts to himself as they walked.

“I was so glad when the Revered Mother left us,” Elowen stated one night as they hiked up and down the huge dunes. “Is that wrong of me? I just couldn’t stand her begging for us to give up Leliana and yourself, Cassandra. The Inquisition would fall apart without you!”

“She doesn’t want them to leave,” Cole chimed in. “Advisors, friends, sisters. It would hurt.”

Elowen cringed, knowing better than to bother asking him to stop.

“So Leliana is a candidate for Divine?” Vivienne noted, ignoring Cole’s comments, to Elowen’s relief. “It's hardly surprising. She plays a pretty Game.”

“She is also an intelligent woman with strong convictions,” Cassandra added, a little defensively.

“Important qualities for whomever takes the Sunburst throne,” Vivienne agreed. “The Divine stands apart. She must command respect and attention or she will accomplish nothing. Which means we have  _two_  fine candidates. Wouldn't you agree, Cassandra dear?”

“The decision rests in the hands of the grand clerics.”

“Such modesty!”

“The Chantry needs to change and I would see it done, but...  _if_  I am chosen, then I pray it is the Maker's will and not ambition that guides me there.”

Sensing the simmering of another disagreement, Elowen quickly asked, “Would that be something you want, though, Cassandra?”

“Why should what I want matter?” Cassandra replied.

“Why shouldn’t it matter? Don’t you have the right to be happy?”

“It is very simple. The Chantry needs to survive. To do that, it must change. And I have never believed in asking another to do what you are unwilling to do yourself.”

Cassandra’s fierce embrace of duty made Elowen feel a little embarrassed for herself.  _She_  had responded to responsibility with fear and self-doubt. The lack of any disastrous reactions to her choices so far had given her a little more confidence in herself, but sometimes she still felt like she had somehow stolen the title of Inquisitor from someone more deserving. Someone more like Cassandra.

“I think you’d be an excellent divine,” she finished.

* * *

 

Elowen and her companions returned to Skyhold after a few weeks, just as sandy as after expeditions to the Western Approach but considerably less sunburnt. She looked up at the tower to the right as they crossed the long bridge to the gate, hoping to see Cullen, but she couldn’t make out any details through the narrow windows.

She sighed to herself, wondering if he would be busy. She could drop her gear off in her quarters and go straight to his office. Hopefully he would be alone. Or maybe he would have seen her coming, meeting her on the bridge over the courtyard and kissing her there, as he had before. Or perhaps she could summon him up to her quarters…

She snapped out of her fantasies as they reached the gates of the fortress, suddenly ashamed of her rather pathetic reaction to Cullen’s attention. It was all very well to daydream to pass the time out in the field, but at Skyhold there was no time for distractions. She was the Inquisitor. Thousands were relying on her, and she had work to do.

_Responsibility. Duty. Be like Cassandra._

_What to do first? Not yet noon… war council._

Elowen dropped into Josephine’s office to arrange a war council for half an hour’s time. The ambassador made the offer to send one of her own messengers to alert the other advisors, and Elowen accepted it.

She then went straight to the Undercroft, her pack full to bursting with hardened gurn hides and wyvern scales, along with the valuable schematics they had found in the tombs. She handed the materials over to Harritt with instructions to craft new arms and armour for her inner circle. Dagna was more than happy to ramble on about her research into red lyrium, which was interesting in itself, but the arcanist had not yet found a way to weaken Samson’s armour. “I need more details, Inquisitor,” she declared. “Maybe some kind of rune...?”

Her pack significantly lightened, Elowen tramped up to her quarters to change out of her armour for the council meeting. Regretting that there was no time for a proper bath, she settled for a quick wash in the basin. Her hair was a mess and she tried to fix it for a minute before chiding herself for her vanity ( _I don’t have to be_ pretty _to be the Inquisitor_ ), leaving it down. She pulled on a long coat in embroidered red wool – a gift from some Orlesian count or other – in preparation for the coming hours in the chilly war room. Hoping she was still early, she looked forward to the chance to study the war table for a few minutes before the council.

With these noble intentions in mind, she pushed open the war room door. She was startled by a dark fur mantle and shining plate obscuring her view of the war table. Cullen turned to face her and his half-smile melted her resolve.

_Battling a gurn in your smallclothes._

Heat crept into her face against her will.

“H-hello,” she greeted.

“Welcome back.”

His gaze swept down her body and back to her face in an instant. He closed the space between them in a few strides and wrapped her waist in his arms. She rested her face in the soft fur of his mantle, glad it hid her undoubtedly goofy smile.

“How are you?” He asked into her hair.

She looked up at him, smile under control. “I’m well. And you?”

“Mmm, perfect.”

His golden eyes were dark. Commanding. She only saw them for a moment before he lowered his head to kiss her, and all the thoughts she had been responsibly repressing came crashing back.

 _Smallclothes. Hands. Too many_ clothes.

The gentle scrape of his stubble on her lips was overwhelming and she leaned against him for support. He chuckled into her mouth, low and rumbling, dragging his hands down her sides–

And they flew apart at the sound of the heavy bolt shifting in the door.

“Greetings, Elowen. I hope your journey through the mountains…” Leliana’s eyes shifted to Cullen’s form to her left as she crossed the threshold, and her tone went from light to mischievous. “Was not too arduous. Winter  _is_  setting in.”

Elowen leaned against the war table, arms crossed, hoping she looked casual.

“There was a little snow but not enough to cause any delay. It’s good to see you.”

“Mm, and you. I am sure our Commander agrees.”

“What? No!” Cullen protested. “Ugh, I mean I  _do_. But this isn’t…” He cleared his throat. “We will have to make sure the mountain passes are kept clear as the weather grows colder,” he finished admirably.

“Yes. Something to discuss today. Thank you, Cullen.” Elowen attempted to fix Leliana with a glare but the other woman was completely unfazed. Of course.

“Everyone is here?” Came Josephine’s Antivan accent, Elowen grateful for her rescue. “Good. Shall we begin?”

The meeting was not a long one, coming to its end within a couple of hours. Leliana’s spy network had now spread to almost all corners of Thedas and she had much information to share. Unfortunately little was regarding Corypheus’s movements; Samson was running a tight operation. Cullen was no closer to finding him, either. Samson’s trail had apparently gone cold. Until they could trace him again, Elowen had no planned expeditions.

Josephine’s news was more uplifting. After the events at the Winter Palace the Orlesian nobility became unreservedly supportive of the Inqisition’s efforts, and King Alistair had been friendly since the alliance with the rebel mages. Now the upper classes of the Free Marches, Neverra, and Antiva were following. Letters promising support and disclosing helpful information poured in and were left in Josephine’s capable hands to be sorted and prioritised. The ambassador presented Elowen with any proposals she deemed worthwhile engaging and they were addressed by one of the three advisors.

As the council drew to a close, Elowen recalled that Cullen had mentioned he had a task in Ferelden in one of his letters.

“Before we finish, Cullen, you told me you have business with the Arl of Redcliffe?”

“Ah, yes. I, uh… wanted to discuss that with  _you_ , Inquisitor.” Cullen glanced at Leliana. “Alone, if I may.”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” Elowen answered hurriedly, hoping she hadn’t shared something Cullen wanted kept private.

Josephine led the retreat. “We will leave you to it, then, Inquisitor.”

Leliana flashed Elowen a meaningful smile (which she failed to glean the meaning of) as she followed Josephine out the door, closing it behind her with an echoing  _clunk_.

Elowen looked across the war table at Cullen, nervousness shifting her stomach.

He spread his hands out on the map, leaning on the heavy table.

“Our soldiers at the Crossroads have been assisting the Arl’s men in rebuilding the farmsteads and villages in the Hinterlands,” he explained, indicating the area on the map. “As such we maintain a strong force there. Nevertheless, I have felt indebted to Arl Teagan for taking Dennet from his service, and so our soldiers have also been helping train up local men to replace those the Arl lost in the war and when Alexius took over.”

Cullen sighed, his expression exasperated. “Arl Teagan has invited me to observe his new recruits in action. I was going to decline the offer, but Josephine advised me to accept. She said it was an honour to be invited to Redcliffe as a guest of the Arl and to refuse could be taken as a slight. So, I must go,” he finished with a little bitterness.

His disdain for nobility and politics – even Fereldan – was clear and Elowen struggled not to take it personally. Her nerves had not settled; he still hadn’t explained what this had to do with  _her_.

He straightened up, rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, took a deep breath in and let it out. “I was hoping you might accompany me.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh,” she began, wondering how to accept.

“When you can spare the time, of course,” he added quickly, uncertainty creeping into his assertive tone.

She didn’t even have to consider it. This was a chance to travel with  _Cullen_. To see him away from his work, to be in his company for hours at a time, to (pretend to) get away from the work of keeping the Inquisition running for a little while. It was irresistible.

Elowen flattened the  _glee_  out of her voice, but couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. “Since I have no business of my own planned, I believe there’s time over the next couple of weeks.”

His patient expression cracked into a smile. “I will make the necessary arrangements.”

He walked around the war table to her. Feeling bold, she put her hands on his shoulders ( _through fur and armour and damned clothing_ ) and stood on her tip toes to kiss him. He wrapped his arms around her middle and she leaned into him again.

_No Leliana to interrupt this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really couldn't take the whole  
> "We have some business in Ferelden!"  
> "I believe there's time now!"  
> thing seriously. Guys, you're half of the Inquisition's leadership. You can't just gallop off to Ferelden by yourselves for a day (as if it would only take a day) for no reason. This was my attempt at a better excuse for a trip away.
> 
> Be warned: the next few chapters to come stray from the canon path in my attempt to make the trip to Ferelden relevant to Inquisition business.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they set out on their trip to Ferelden, Cullen struggles not to worry about leaving his work behind. Thankfully, his bringing Elowen along doesn't seem to be a problem, and the Arl of Redcliffe is very keen to meet her.

Cullen

Cullen had written to Rylen at Griffon Wing Keep to ask him to take over the Commander’s duties for the couple of weeks he would be away. Leliana had agreed to supervise the Knight-Captain. Cullen reassured himself they were both more than capable of doing his job.

_The Inquisition will survive without me for a fortnight._

He straightened his back and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of the wind on his face as he rode through the mountains. The biting autumn wind of the Frostbacks helped to allay his worries.

Cullen glanced ahead at Elowen, hoping for another source of comfort. She was talking animatedly with one of the dozen soldiers that were accompanying them to Redcliffe.

With Josephine’s help, Cullen had written to the Arl to request the presence of the Inquisitor on his visit to Redcliffe. Josephine highly approved of the idea. “The presence of the Inquisitor herself would show the Arl we honour his friendship,” she had explained, to Cullen’s relief. He had no mind for diplomacy and it would be just like him to jeopardise one of their strongest partnerships with his misguided attempt at romance. Blessedly the Arl himself seemed almost as pleased with the idea as Cullen was in his reply:

_Commander Cullen,_

_I would be honoured to have both yourself and the Inquisitor at Redcliffe Castle for as long as you wish. The head of my guard, Henrick, was jubilant at the prospect of meeting her worship. Indeed, I admit I have long wished to make her acquaintance myself._

_I look forward to meeting you._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Arl Teagan Guerrin of Redcliffe_

Elowen’s conversation with the soldier had ended and she rode her Taslin Strider alone a short distance ahead of him. He made to catch up to her. As his horse fell into step beside hers, though, he realised he had no idea what to talk about. Inquisition business was easy to discuss. He could easily pretend he wasn’t as nervous as a schoolboy when talking with her about battle and military tactics, things he knew something about. But what are you supposed to talk about when you’re travelling together?

She turned to smile at him. Her hair was pulled back into a long braid and her cheeks were flushed from the cold.

 _Beautiful_.

Cullen realised he was staring and cleared his throat, frantically trying to think of what to say.

Elowen came to his rescue. “So, have you ever met the Arl of Redcliffe?” She asked.

“No. The Circle of Magi had some dealings with the Arl before the Blight, I believe, but Eamon was Arl then.”

“Teagan was made Arl after the Blight, yes?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

She nodded, and her smile transformed into a smirk. “I wonder how you’ll cope being away from Skyhold this time. If it’s anything like the trip to the Winter Palace I may regret coming.”

He laughed. “ _That_  was more to do with where we were going, rather than leaving.”

“But how will you survive without a parade of messengers and war reports?” She was in the full throes of sarcasm now.

“I should be able to last the day,” he replied. “Besides, I told Leliana to send word if…”

Cullen stopped at her giggle. He had fallen into her trap.

_Maker’s breath. Can I talk of nothing but work?_

“I’m sorry,” she said, still grinning. “It’s alright. I…”The grin faded and she looked down at the reins in her hands. Shame? “I admire your dedication.”

“ _My_  dedication?”

“Mmm. I sometimes wonder… how much more could we have achieved? If I were more like you, or Cassandra.”

Cullen was incredulous. “Are you…?” A look at her abashed expression told her she was indeed serious.

“You charge headlong into battle with every chance you get. You threw yourself into the path of a dragon,  _twice_. You… Maker’s breath, you were willing to  _sacrifice_   _yourself_  to save the Inquisition.”

His stomach churned at the despised memory.

“Do you really think you aren’t  _dedicated_?”

She looked down at her hands again, a blush creeping into her complexion. “Well, when you say it  _that_  way, it sounds-”

“Our people follow you for a reason, Elowen,” Cullen interrupted, almost angry that she didn’t seem to see her own value. “ _You_  have done more for the Inquisition than anyone else. And you are a great leader. I would follow you anywhere, for my part,” he finished, feeling a little exposed by the confession.

She looked up at him, expression unreadable. “Do you mean that?”

“Truly.”

Her look turned serious. “You’d follow me anywhere?”

Cullen felt his ears heating, aware of the second meaning of his words. He  _would_  follow her anywhere. He had no idea what would happen after the Inquisition was no longer needed, but now whenever he pictured his future, it was with  _her_.

“I would,” he admitted.

She nodded, looking thoughtful. Cullen hoped he had said the right thing before she spoke again.

“Even if you  _didn’t_  have a good view of my arse?”

Cullen let out a bark of a laugh that made the soldiers ahead of them turn around in alarm. Elowen was laughing shyly and he wanted nothing more than to kiss the smile off her face.

“Even then.”

* * *

 

It was not far from Skyhold to Redcliffe, but the terrain was harsh. They made it within three days’ ride, Cullen regretting the presence of the soldiers that went with them. It was necessary, of course; it would be foolish for the Inquisitor and Commander to travel alone. But it meant they had had no privacy, and his hopes of orchestrating a romantic getaway were rapidly dwindling.

As they rounded a bend in the road and the gates to Redcliffe village came into view, his spirits rose.

 _At least we will be able to sleep in proper beds…_ _Maker, have I gotten so soft?_

Elowen seemed to thrive on the road. She looked more alert and awake than she ever did at Skyhold. Cullen supposed she did spend most of her time in the field. This was where she excelled.

She announced their presence to the guards at the gate, who let them pass with deep bows. The same occurred at the gate to the castle bridge. Cullen saw Elowen hesitate before riding onto the bridge, taking a deep breath before urging her Strider forward. He realised the only other time she’d been here she had deliberately walked into a trap on her advisors’ instructions, and it had turned out worse than any of them could have guessed. He sped up to walk his horse next to her, breaking protocol and not caring.

“Are you alright?” He asked quietly, low enough that their companions would not hear.

She didn’t answer for a moment, just breathing slowly.

“I will be,” she said shortly, determined. “When I see the Arl and the, uh, lack of corpses, I’ll be fine.”

“Alright.”

Cullen wanted to offer her more support, to let her know he would be there if he could do anything to help, but didn’t want to patronise her in front of the soldiers. Instead he slowed down again to follow her as they passed through the gate into the castle courtyard.

Arl Teagan greeted them on the stairs leading to the keep. He was a friendly man in his mid-forties, free of the pretension and ostentatious attitude of his Orlesian counterparts. Cullen liked him instantly.

He introduced them to Ser Henrick, the captain of Redcliffe’s knights, and Cullen instructed the soldiers to follow Henrick to the barracks. The Arl turned back to Elowen and Cullen.

“I’ve waited too long to thank you personally for liberating my lands, Inquisitor. But it is late in the day and you have had a long journey. I am sure you are both looking forward to a meal. Dinner is due to be served in an hour.” Cullen’s stomach grumbled in response. “I’ll show you to your chambers so you can take some rest beforehand.”

The Arl led them though the vast fortress. It was decorated with fine Fereldan furniture and carved beams. While Cullen had never lived anywhere in Ferelden as grand as Redcliffe Castle, the familiar motifs gave him a sense of patriotic comfort and he realised he had missed his homeland.

They left Elowen in a chamber on the main floor and the Arl led Cullen upstairs to a comfortable room made up for him. Although Leliana had thoroughly investigated the Arl’s invitation (and the castle was infested with her agents after Alexius), Cullen was not entirely comfortable being out of his armour so soon after travelling. He undressed and quickly washed using the silver basin provided before getting back into his full armour to search for the barracks.

He found them with directions from one of the castle guards and, finding the Inquisition’s soldiers in the middle of eating (to his jealousy), introduced himself to the other knights and guards of Redcliffe. He felt uncomfortable being given a room of his own in the castle while his men slept in the communal barracks, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it. When his men had finished their meal he planned guard rotations with them before taking them into the castle to show them which were his and Elowen’s quarters. He would have Inquisition soldiers stationed outside each chamber at all times during their stay.

As he was about to leave the Elowen’s door under the watchful eye of his soldiers, it opened. She stood there, hair tumbling over her shoulders, in a gown of dark red brocade that left her arms and collarbones bare.

Cullen just stared in bewilderment. All traces of dirt from the road were gone. More than ever she looked like a noblewoman, a woman who  _belonged_  in Redcliffe Castle.

“Please forgive my interruption, Commander,” she said formally.

“You’re not interrupting,  _your worship_ ,” he replied with a hint of sarcasm, unused to titles after their journey.

She smiled timidly. “I uh… I’m glad I caught you. I have no idea where the dining room is.”

Cullen chuckled. He offered her his arm because it felt like the right thing to do. She took it and he led her to what had  _looked_  like the dining room. The Arl joined them soon afterward and Cullen’s impatient stomach was shortly satisfied by a rich meal of roast pheasant, bread, and vegetables, washed down with fine wine. They spoke of the Inquisition’s activities in the Hinterlands, Fereldan politics, and ale. The Arl seemed be a connoisseur of ale to rival the Iron Bull.

Elowen’s upbringing in the courts of the Free Marches was coming to the fore. She carried the conversation with a grace equal to the Arl’s, and Cullen saw the manners emerging that won over the Orlesian court.

But his attention wasn’t focused on her  _manners_. The colour her skin glowed in the candlelight, the way she glanced at him across the table, the glint of a familiar gold chain that disappeared below the neckline of that gown…

“I see no lady dines with us tonight, my lord,” Elowen observed as the desserts were being brought out. “Have you no family of your own?”

Cullen eyed a fruit pudding, idly wondering how long it had been since he had eaten such a thing.

“Oh, you mean, am I married?” Replied the Arl.

“I suppose so.”

“I… no. No, I’ve never had the pleasure,” Teagan said, helping himself to a serving of custard. “If I did, I’d be lucky to find a woman as lovely as yourself.”

Cullen’s eyes snapped to the Arl to see him giving Elowen a sycophantic smile. He felt a hot impulse at the back of his head as his opinion of the Arl dropped precipitously. The pudding sat in front of him on the table, forgotten.

“Ah… thank you, my lord,” said Elowen, looking down at her plate. “You are too kind.”

“If I may be so bold, what of you, Your Worship? Are you married?”

_This was a mistake._

“No, I am not. The Inquisition is rather demanding, and uh… I’m not sure if I would have the time for married life.”

Teagan chuckled. “You’re probably right about that.” He turned to Cullen. “What about you, Ser Cullen, are you married?”

Cullen fought to keep his voice under control. “ _No,_ ” he said, shorter than was polite.

_Calm. Respectful._

“No, I’m not married, my lord.”

“Well, that makes three of us,” Teagan said, raising his goblet of wine to them.

Cullen returned the gesture and drained his own goblet, returning it to the wooden table with a satisfying  _thunk_. He stood.

“I am afraid I’m tired from the journey, my lord. Please excuse me.”

“Of course, Commander. I hope the room is to your taste.”

He left without another word, the shifting of his armour loud as he stalked back to his room. He couldn’t trust himself not to threaten the Inquisition’s good relationship with the Arl if the conversation continued in  _that_  direction. But now that Cullen had left, the man was free to continue his flattery. He caught himself in that thought.

_He is free to flatter her regardless of whether I am there or not. I have no control over the Arl._

He nodded curtly to the soldiers outside his chamber and slammed the door behind him. He paced the floor, agitated.

He hoped Elowen would not accept the Arl’s advances. He realised he had no idea what it was  _she_  wanted. She had certainly seemed affectionate over the last few weeks, but she  _was_  noble. Regardless of their relationship, her reasons for wanting to marry could be different from his own.

 _Maker’s breath, marriage?_ That _is getting ahead of myself._

But a political marriage could be arranged quickly. Courtship was not required. If the Arl was set on this, Cullen could do nothing about it. Nothing that wouldn’t turn the Arl from an ally into an enemy, at least.

_I should never have asked her to come with me._

He slumped down onto the bed, head in his hands. He had naïvely hoped this trip would be an opportunity to spend more time with Elowen, to get her away from the Inquisition for just a little while. But they had hardly touched since they had left Skyhold. Despite the rumours about them that saturated the barracks, he preferred to keep their private affairs private, which meant not doing anything  _private_  while being surrounded by soldiers at all hours during their journey.

And now the Maker-damned Arl of Redcliffe had as good as  _proposed_  to her. He realised this had probably been the Arl’s intent all along, the reason why he was so enthusiastic about Elowen’s coming.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. He felt completely powerless.

He stood up slowly and began to remove his armour. He placed his mantle, tunic, and belt on a carved armchair near the fireplace. Then the gauntlets and leather gloves came off to free his hands. Pauldrons came first, then the breastplate was detached from the gorget around his neck. He unbuckled the gorget, and the stubble on his neck reminded him he needed to shave. He scowled.

He shrugged out of his leather jerkin and tossed it onto the armchair with more force than necessary before sitting on the edge of the bed to start on his boots.

_But she’s wearing my necklace._

The thought held him there for a few moments, staring into space, considering.

_I could just go talk to her._

It seemed like a simple solution, but it was wracked with risk. She might see him as jealous and controlling. She had never promised him anything, not fidelity, not friendship, not marriage.

 _Sweet Maker, drive these ideas from my head!_ Marriage _, for Andraste’s sake…_

Or she could confirm his fears. Becoming an arlessa would be  _marrying up_ , as nobles say. Who knew how much value the Trevelyans placed on titles?

 _But she’s wearing my necklace_ , he remembered.

He touched the lucky coin in his shirt pocket, warm through the fabric. He pulled it out and glared at it.

_Now’s your chance, Branson._

He got to his feet, boots untouched, and marched toward the heavy door of his room in the Arl’s castle.

Arl Teagan Guerrin was a good man of high standing who would no doubt marry a fine woman. Cullen was determined she would not be Elowen Trevelyan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, uh... yeah.
> 
> I was playing Origins and there was the part where you can (incredibly inappropriately) flirt with Teagan as a female warden. Teagan is just into strong women, ok? Ok.
> 
> Edit: Wow so they just ruined Teagan in Trespasser, didn't they? Come on Teagan, you used to be cool.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hopeless of her journey to Ferelden with Cullen turning out to be romantic, Elowen seeks some time alone.

Elowen

Elowen stared down at her half-eaten slice of pudding, at a loss of what to say to the Arl. Cullen’s angry exit from the dining room had not exactly been _subtle_ , but she had no idea if his foul mood was caused by Teagan’s awkward flattery or _her_ hedging acceptance of it. The meal shifted uncomfortably in her stomach.

_ I‘ve completely ruined this trip. _

The Arl, not a foolish man, observed, “I am not familiar with him, your worship, so please forgive my presumption. But did the Commander seem… out of sorts to you?”

“I think you are right, my lord.”

“I wonder what the matter is?” He asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

“I have no idea,” Elowen answered honestly. She forced a brightness into her voice that she didn’t feel. “I am sure I could not eat another bite, my lord. The meal was delicious.”

“I am glad you think so,” said the Arl, taking her hint and standing to leave.

Elowen rose after him. “I look forward to seeing the countryside tomorrow.”

“It is much improved. I’m eager to show you the work your people have assisted with. But you must be tired. Would you like me to show you back to your chambers, your worship?”

It was an honest question and the Arl held her gaze for a moment, not imposing or leering but gentle, as she thought of the best way to decline.

“Thank you, my lord, I believe I know the way well enough.”

He smiled at her. “As you wish. Sleep well, Inquisitor.”

“Goodnight, my lord.”

She left the dining room the way she had come, warily wandering back along the corridors to where she thought her room was. Redcliffe Castle was not built like Skyhold, radiating outward from a central hall. Instead it comprised twisting, windowless corridors that all looked the same to Elowen. Already embarrassed from the Arl’s attentions, she tried not to think about how she would look if she had to be rescued, lost in his castle.

The heat in her cheeks began to fade as she rounded a corner and spotted the soldiers Cullen had posted outside her door. She wished a good night to Lara and the other after asking after his name. _Terryn_ , she repeated in her mind, hoping to match the face to the name. _Terryn, Terryn, Terryn._

She pulled a brush through her hair before tugging the laces on her bodice loose. The pretty red gown went back into her trunk, folded carefully, followed by her underclothes. The unease that comes with being nude in someone else’s home ( _the Arl’s_ ) caused her to rummage around in the trunk for her green robe. She had had it sent to Haven from Ostwick soon after she arrived there along with a select collection of other clothing that she had never ended up wearing. While the rest of her clothes had been destroyed with the village, it was with joy that she found the robe crumpled at the bottom of her pack one evening while camping in the Western Approach. She had taken it with her everywhere since, wearing it as often as practical. It was silly, but she had become very attached to it: it should not have survived, like her, but still it was with her, the only reminder of home.

The robe wrapped safely around her, Elowen sat down on the edge of the bed, face in hands, preparing for a good long sulk. Travelling with Cullen was supposed to be _romantic_. It really hadn’t been, although they had talked a great deal more than they ever had the chance to at Skyhold. But now _this_. Whether he was angry at the Arl or at her, it made little difference. Whatever this stay in Redcliffe was, it was _not_ romantic.

She considered the idea that their… _whatever_ it was they had, could end because of this. The sudden depth of sadness that came at the thought startled her. Her eyes filled with tears, the surprise at her emotional response only intensifying it. She rubbed her eyes with her palms.

_ This is ridiculous. I am the Inquisitor. I don’t cry _ .

Cullen had gone from intimidating Commander to good friend to treasured lover in her months with the Inquisition and she really didn’t want that to change. _Lover_ , though? They were not _really_ lovers, not yet, according to the usual definition.

_ What is a lover? _ She wondered idly, the pressure under her eyes releasing slowly. _Someone you love_ …

Her eyes were wide at the beginning of realisation.

_ Someone you love? _

But her self-reflection was interrupted by footsteps and voices outside. Cullen’s voice.

“Is the Inquisitor inside?” It said, muffled through the thick wooden door.

“Yes, Ser,” came Lara’s voice, softer than his.

A firm knock on said door had her standing up from the bed with a start.

“Inquisitor? Are you… are you awake?”

Despite the pause, his voice was loud and sure.

“Yes, just a moment!”

She checked her appearance quickly in the little wooden vanity on one side of the room. Assured that all sign of her tears were gone, she went to the door. She hesitated, holding the cool iron latch until it warmed, steeling herself for whatever was to come.

She opened the door wide, standing behind it like a shield as he walked in. She closed it behind him, taking her time with the latch, keeping her back to him.

_ I have to look at him at some point _ .

She took a deep breath before she turned around. His armour was gone, leaving just an unbleached linen shirt and leather trousers.

She didn’t know what mood she expected him to be in, but the raised eyebrows and open mouth of _amazement_ wasn’t it. He seemed to recover and opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. His eyes flitted down her body and he exhaled heavily, turning away and rubbing his neck.

“Did you… want to talk about something?” She asked timidly.

He took a breath. “Yes.”

But he said nothing.

“You can talk to me about anything, Cullen,” she ventured. The distance between them felt vast, and the idea of approaching him and sliding her arms around him, like she’d done before, seemed impossible.

Finally he met her eye, guarded, like her. “The Arl, he… I don’t know what else you talked about after I left, but ah… is he…” He took another deep breath. “Does he intend to _pursue_ you?”

It was what she expected. She shoved the rising dread down, like she did each time demons spawned from a rift.

“I don’t know.”

“Ah,” he said flatly.

Cullen seemed to be thinking what to say. Elowen waited patiently, deliberately emotionless.

Then something rigid in him seemed to break, and all hesitation was gone. His voice was clear and slow.

“I don’t want you to marry him. I don’t want you to be with _anyone_ else.”

He stared into her eyes, open now, not just confidence or passion but fiery _hunger_ in his gaze. It was a question.

“I want that, too,” she answered.

He closed the space between them instantly. She tilted her head to face him and he kissed her hard, possessive. One hand dug into her hair and the other found its way to her hip, holding firmly. She slid her arms around his waist, revelling in the feel of his warmth, his muscles shifting under her touch, free of his usual plate. Her head swam.

His warm hand slipped up her back and down, stroking her through the silk robe, before coming to rest on her bottom and pulling her tight to him, forcing a gasp from her. He smiled into her lips. She could feel him, _hard_ against her belly and she arched into him. He hissed through his teeth at her movement, only encouraging her.

Her breath was slow and deliberate as she broke the kiss, pulling him by his waist as she walked backwards to the bed. He followed, and when the mattress hit the back of her knees, he lowered her onto it slowly, her full weight in his arms.

He crawled over her, one knee between hers, and had her mouth again.

She needed this, needed _him_ , the feel of the muscles in his back driving her mad. She rolled her hips against his thigh shamelessly and the _sound_ that rumbled through him told her that he needed this, too.

He dragged a warm hand, tentative, slowly up her waist. She moved her own arm out of the way, holding him around the back of his neck, and he slid his palm over the mound of her breast, his thumb streaking over the hard peak.

_ He’s done this before. _

She let out a soft moan, conscious of the soldiers outside the door, mere feet away. Cullen’s mouth moved to her neck, chasing her pulse with his tongue, and it was all she could do to stay silent under the power of his attentions.

With the hand still around his waist she snuck under his shirt, slowly tracing the path of his muscles up his back with her fingernails. She tugged lightly on the coarse fabric, wanting more of him, but he only sighed, his breath hot against the sensitised skin of her throat.

“Not here. Not now,” he whispered into her ear, the feeling of his voice winding her tighter despite his meaning.

He raised himself up on his elbows and looked her in the face. His lips were swollen, like hers felt, and the flush in his cheeks was irresistible. She tried her best to display the depths of her sadness with a heartbroken facial expression. He snorted.

“I want you,” he said quietly. “ _Maker_ , I want you. But not like this.”

“Like what, then?”

“Not in bloody _Arl Teagan’s_ house. Not somewhere with guards right outside the door. Not somewhere with an _audience_.”

He lowered his head to whisper in her ear again. “I want to see how loud I can make you moan.”

Her eyes widened at that. But he was climbing off her, standing up, adjusting his clothes. She sat up on the edge of the bed, trying not to pout and probably failing.

She briefly considered saying a loud, fake farewell for the sake of the guards, but there was no point. She was fairly sure they would have heard their initial conversation and filled in the later silence with their own ideas. She cringed.

_ That’s what you get for fraternising with your Commander. _

She stood up to open the door for him but he wrapped her in his arms again and kissed her once, twice, his lips going soft.

“You said-” she began.

“I know. I’m going.”

She giggled quietly and he gave her one of those half-smiles.

“Goodnight, Elowen.”

“Goodnight.”

Closing the door after him, she leaned into it for a moment, smiling. She soon snuggled down into the large, plush bed, her initial sadness at seeing him go replaced by happiness at how much better their _talk_ had gone that she thought it would. Not trusting herself to keep quiet, she kept her hands steadfastly above the blankets. She fell asleep quickly, more optimistic about the chances of romance than she had been that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this really needs a rating after this chapter. Not real porn yet, though, I am afraid. The sex will be correct, damnit, i.e. desk. It's important to be canon-compliant with these things.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling wistful, Cullen uncharacteristically takes advantage of his time off and suggests a detour to Honnleath.

Cullen 

The next day, Arl Teagan led Elowen and Cullen on a tour of Redcliffe village, the countryside of the Fereldan Hinterlands, and the Crossroads. Cullen had spent little time in the area, so although he could see when things were going well, it was clear there was still a lot of work left to do. Elowen, though, had spent weeks in the Hinterlands and she seemed very impressed with the work of the Arl’s and the Inquisition’s people. The refugees at the Crossroads and in Redcliffe had been largely rehoused, destroyed dwellings had been rebuilt, and the many farms in the area were once again up and running.

Cullen recognised many of the Inquisition soldiers at the Crossroads as recruits that had joined them at Haven. He greeted them warmly, recalling a handful of names. He spent the hour or so at the Crossroads camp discussing the Inquisition’s activities with Lieutenant Vale, who commanded the forces there, and Arl Teagan, who Cullen was slowly forgiving for his unwitting betrayal.

Elowen mingled with the soldiers and refugees. Whenever Cullen looked for her, he would spot her chatting happily with a small crowd of people.

 _And she thinks she’s not dedicated._  Cullen smiled to himself.

They returned to the castle as the sun was sinking below the shade of the mountains in the west. As they rode into the courtyard, Lara approached him, holding a small envelope.

“Message for you, Commander.”

He took it from her as he dismounted. “From who?” He asked, recognising Leliana’s seal as he said it. “Oh. Thank you.”

Lara gave him a farewell salute. He broke the seal on the parchment, quickly skimming the page.

 _All is fine without you… Rylen leads the armies like he was born to it… suitable replacement for yourself_. Cullen scowled at the Spymaster’s mocking.  _… agents in Redcliffe report nothing… hope you are making use of the time alone with our Inquisitor-_

“From Skyhold?” Asked Elowen, too close behind him to be safe.

Cullen dropped his hand to his side, overriding the urge to clutch the letter to his chest to prevent her from seeing it. That wouldn’t help at all.

“Yes, just an update from Leliana,” he answered quickly.

“Oh, good. Is everything alright?”

His tone was deliberately sullen. “Perfect, apparently.”

Elowen laughed. “Perhaps you should travel more often.”

“Mmm,” he grumbled. Elowen left him, heading to the castle doors. He continued reading, following her slowly.

_I hope you are making use of the time alone with our Inquisitor in Redcliffe. Neither of your quarters provide a lot of privacy, as you must have noticed. On second thought, perhaps you haven’t. I am sure I would know if you had._

_Leliana_

Cullen’s scowl deepened at Leliana’s teasing. She was always a little too…  _invasive_  for comfort. He tossed the letter into the first fireplace he came across in the castle.

Privacy at Skyhold was something he hadn’t considered. He’d assumed he would have the facilities to continue what they started the night before once they were off the road. At least his office had  _doors_. Leliana’s letter had shattered that assumption. There were doors, yes, but they had no locks. Elowen’s quarters were quite secluded, but the door was guarded at all times and  _getting_  to them required walking through the great hall, full of gossiping Orlesian courtiers, for Maker knows what reason. And Varric. Cullen massaged the back of his neck in pre-emptive embarrassment.

It seemed like public scrutiny would be the price to pay for being close to the Inquisitor. But Cullen couldn’t truthfully say he would mind half of Thedas knowing they were together. If he was honest with himself, the idea gave him a swelling feeling in his chest, something like pride. But it wasn’t just his ego that mattered. Elowen might  _want_  secrecy.

He sighed. This was difficult.

Looking for something to occupy himself before dinner, he wandered the castle looking for the Arl. He found him in his office, leaning over a map on a large mahogany desk. The other man looked up as he entered.

“Ah! Commander. I could use your help, if you don’t mind. Henrick insists on using the western pass for all our expeditions to the north,” he indicated on the map. “I’m of the opinion that sailing over the lake would be faster. What would you advise?”

Cullen examined the map, asking a few questions before giving his opinion. The map was a detailed one of south-western Ferelden with Redcliffe in its centre. His eyes roamed to the map’s upper edge, where Kinloch Hold was marked. The sinking feeling that usually accompanied memories of the Circle Tower came, as he expected, blunted little by time.

“Your accent is Fereldan, if I am not mistaken,” said the Arl, breaking Cullen’s meditation.

“Yes, I grew up near Honnleath before joining the Order.”

“A local! How long have you been away?”

The way he phrased it sounded strange, like he expected Cullen would inevitably return to Honnleath. As far as Cullen knew, the small village had been ravaged during the Blight; it was unlikely there would be anything left of his childhood home.

“I was stationed in Kirkwall after the Blight. Before I joined the Inquisition… it’s been almost ten years since I was in Ferelden.”

The Arl smiled warmly. “Allow me to welcome you home, brother.”

Cullen returned the smile without thinking. He hadn’t put much stock in the idea of “home” for many years, but he found himself grateful for the Arl’s words.

He looked back down at the map, to Honnleath at its southern edge. He felt a little tug of curiosity. How many days’ ride out of the way would it be? No more than one or two, surely… He  _had_  made arrangements to be away for two weeks at the most. Perhaps, if Elowen had no objection, they could make a short stop there.

The Arl cleared his throat, interrupting Cullen’s thoughts a second time. Cullen met his eye.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Commander. You seem to know the Inquisitor quite well. Do you know if Lady Trevelyan is, ah… if she is  _involved_  with anyone?”

The irrational dislike of the previous night returned in an instant and Cullen struggled to keep his emotions from his face.

_He doesn’t know. He’s not trying to compete. Polite. Respectful._

“Yes, my lord, she is.” He held the Arl’s gaze and his voice came out clear and even.

“Ah. I see.”

Cullen resisted the expectation to apologise. He wasn’t sorry at all.

The Arl’s question suggested he might not just be interested in a political marriage. If that were the case, the fact that she  _was_  involved would be enough to halt his advances.

The other man managed to gracefully change the topic back to military tactics and they continued on in that vein until a servant alerted them it was time for dinner with a knock at the door and a bow.

The Arl had invited a handful of his own knights and the Inquisition’s soldiers to the meal. Cullen took a seat next to Elowen, their quiet conversation drowned out by the lively voices around them. She had replaced her heavy red gown with one the colour of cream that floated around her. When he reached out to touch her leg,  _cautiously_ , under the table between courses, he could feel the texture of her skin through the fabric. He liked this dress.

He walked Elowen back to her room after the meal. It  _was_  on the way to his own, so there was nothing improper in it. The impropriety was in the way he kissed her on the mouth as she stood between the two soldiers guarding her door.

* * *

 

They left Redcliffe the following morning, packs full of provisions from Redcliffe Castle’s kitchens. Arl Teagan bid them farewell at the gate. Cullen shook his hand, leaving with genuine respect for the man. But despite the Arl now knowing she was not  _available_ , he couldn’t shake the irrational need to get Elowen away and safely out of Teagan’s clutches, and Cullen’s heart lightened as they rode away. They reached the Crossroads camp within an hour, stopping to eat and to bid a final farewell to the Inquisition forces stationed there. Once they’d eaten a small meal of bread and cheese, Elowen rose and began to head off in Lieutenant Vale’s direction.

Cullen stood, his cheese abandoned, and moved to follow her. “Elowen, wait.” She did. “Could I have a word?”

He led her away from their huddle of escorts, who were still eating. The distance provided all the seclusion they were going to get.

She looked up at him expectantly, her arms crossed over her scale shirt.

“I have a proposal,” he began.

“Mm?”

“Before we left I made arrangements for us both to be away for up to two weeks. As it is, we’ve been away from Skyhold for five days. I thought, um…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, thinking of how to pose the question.

“Do you… have other business nearby?” She volunteered.

“Not  _business_. I grew up not far from here.” Elowen smiled at that, looking intrigued. “Since we have time, and we’re  _sort of_  nearby, I’d like to go visit, if you’re not opposed to a detour.”

“The birthplace of the famous Commander Cullen! I’d be delighted,” she teased. “How far away is it?”

“About a day’s ride south of here. If we travel northwest into the mountains it shouldn’t take more than another three days.”

At Elowen’s acquiescence, Cullen updated their small party of soldiers on the change of plan. While she spoke to Vale and gave a short farewell speech to the forces at the Crossroads, Cullen scribbled a short note to Leliana informing her of their plans and entrusted its safe delivery to the messengers in the camp, deliberately avoiding any reference to the Spymaster’s previous letter.

* * *

 

The road south was squelchy, the sky a dull grey. Ferelden’s famously bad weather was at its epitome in late Harvestmere. They set up camp behind a little copse of trees off the road in the mid-afternoon, driven to take shelter from the increasing zeal of the chilly rain.

They carried one large tent (ostensibly Elowen’s, but she had not slept in it) and enough small tents for everyone in the party. After pitching the large one, they stowed their gear and wet armour inside and, aside from the poor sods outside on guard duty, sat swapping stories until well after dark.

Elowen retired to a small tent first, and the three soldiers assigned to the last watch conscientiously followed her example. Cullen stayed up with the others until the first watch ended, content to delay the inevitable.

He was nervous about seeing his old home, and nerves never produced good dreams. Or in Cullen’s case, less-bad nightmares. Would he be able to find his family’s house at all? Did Honnleath even survive the Blight?

_Worrying won’t help anything._

Determined to get  _some_  sleep, he grabbed a bedroll and searched for an empty tent. Gently peeling back the flap on the tent furthest from the group, he strained to check for a sleeping figure in the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, Elowen’s face grew clear. A quick prickling feeling crept up the back of his neck, the same feeling he would have when he accidentally broke something as a child. But no one was watching. Perhaps he could slip in for just a few moments…

 _No._ No _. Close the flap. Find another tent._

He closed Elowen’s tent silently with a hint of regret before moving on to check the one to the right. Finding a sleeping figure there, he moved on to the next, which was blessedly unoccupied.

He kicked off his boots and struggled out of his leather jacket before placing them neatly to the side. As he settled down into the furry bedroll, ready for sleep, a change in the weight of his shirt snapped his eyes open. He felt around in the fur for a second before he detected the warm metal of his brother’s coin. He dropped it into a boot, from which it couldn’t escape. The token safe, sleep pulled his eyes shut.

* * *

 

Cullen watched the day dawn, the pale sunlight making the world sparkle after the evening’s rain. He was woken by his nightmares halfway through the final watch, about two hours before dawn, and he spent the intervening time in the soldiers’ company. The rest of their group came alive with the growing daylight and they were back on the muddy road within the hour.

They reached Honnleath by the early afternoon. Some buildings were new, but for the most part, it was just as Cullen remembered. Only smaller.

The little village was bustling with activity. He looked around at the faces that stared at the Inquisition heraldry, but none were familiar. One of the larger old houses had been converted into an inn, and after stabling the horses, the party filed into the building eager for a warm meal.

Their bellies filled, Elowen requested that they go look for his old house. His stomach knotted, but he nodded and rose from the long wooden table on the inn’s ground floor. As he did so, all twelve of his soldiers stood after him, loyal as Mabaris. Cullen suppressed an exasperated sigh. They hardly needed an escort to make the trip he’d done thousands of times as a child.

“It’s not far; we will only take a few of you. Terryn, Kinley, Jacques,” he gestured to the soldiers, “You three come with us. The rest of you are free to do what you will for the rest of the day.” He paused before leaving, considering his instructions. “Within the bounds of the Inquisition’s standards,” he added, hoping it wasn’t necessary to say so.

Leaving the horses stabled, he walked side by side with Elowen out of the village. The soldiers followed them in a loose formation that Cullen couldn’t help but appreciate. They had been trained well.

_Take the west road, then the lane with the trees along it…_

The Thaw had been quick in Honnleath; the fields on either side of them were well-tended, freshly harvested. The distance was shorter than he remembered, the little lane upon him within minutes. He kept his breathing steady against his accelerating heartbeat. He had stopped talking without really realising it.

_Then it’s the house on the right, with an oak tree in front of it._

The silhouette of the old oak came into view and Cullen took his shortcut across the field ( _someone else’s field now_ ). As he approached, its Tainted state became clear. Its bark was blackened and mangled and no leaves adorned its branches.

Keeping a wide berth of the tree, he finally had a view of his childhood home: a crumbling stone chimney, blackened by fire, the charcoal and ash surrounding it all that remained of the home of his memories.

He stood on what had been the front path, now overgrown with grass and weeds, a little stunned by his lack of strong emotion. There was some sadness, yes, but hardly more than usual; some wistful joy at the memories that landscape conjured; a mite of indignance at the destruction of his family’s old place. But all there was at the core of his mind was powerful, surprising acceptance.

_I left this place long ago._

Elowen had moved to his side, was sliding her arm around his, apparently misinterpreting his silence. He looked down at her with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Well, here it is: the great Rutherford estate!”

Catching his tone, she said, “Psh, what’s Skyhold? We should move the Inquisition  _here_!”

“Skyhold? I  _think_  that’s a ruined little hut in the mountains.”

“Oh, no wonder I’ve never heard of it!” She switched to an awful Orlesian accent. “Eet is  _nussing_  to ze elegance of ze Rutherford estate!”

Cullen’s laugh came out as a snort and the sound sent Elowen into fits of laughter. Their helpless escort could only look on in bewilderment as the Inquisitor and the Commander stomped irreverently through the ashes of his old life.

* * *

 

Icy rain began to fall as Cullen, Elowen, and their reduced guard returned to Honnleath late that afternoon. They hurried back to the inn, wary of the damage two soakings would cause their gear. The bar filled up quickly, the damp populace eager to chase away the cold with warm food and drink. The Inquisition party had similar ideas, eagerly sampling the soups and stews offered by the innkeeper and washing them down with hot spiced mead.

The little inn only had three rooms available for the night, meaning the group would have to share. Elowen, Lara, and Tilly, another female soldier, would take one room and the men would share the other two, and a somewhat relaxed guard schedule would let them have a bed each. The idea of sharing with Elowen flashed through Cullen’s mind before he dismissed it; it wouldn’t be fair for the two of them to have a room to themselves.

_I’m the Commander, I could just order them out… no. No. Stop it._

But the idea put a heat into his cheeks that didn’t fade. Or maybe it was the mead. Either way, the feeling of Elowen’s thigh against his on the wooden bench they shared wasn’t helping. He excused himself from the table, citing “Washing up,” as he made his escape upstairs.

He found Terryn already asleep in the room, snoring like a bear. Cullen smirked at the sound as he fished around in his pack for a clean shirt. Finding one, he removed his armour as quietly as he could manage, not wanting to disturb his comrade. A glint of silver inside his boot caught his eye.

_My coin!_

He fished the little piece of silver out, cursing himself for his carelessness. He inspected it for any damage, and finding it unblemished, carefully placed it on the roughhewn wash table in the corner of the room. There was no mirror, just a pewter jug filled with cold water and a ragged but clean washcloth. He washed quickly with the chilly water before getting dressed in the clean shirt. He absently ran a hand around his jaw: he was well and truly “unshaven” by now, and getting dangerously close to “bearded.”

He sank down onto the straw mattress of an unoccupied bed, digesting the day’s events. He was in Honnleath. It still existed. Changed, certainly, but it was still standing. The decades away had made the village feel like something out of a story or a dream. His family’s house, though.  _That_  was gone. He had expected to feel disappointed or lonely or angry, but hadn’t. Overall, he was glad he’d come. And now Elowen had seen his old home too, shared at least a part of his past. Cullen wondered if he’d ever see hers.

_Maybe. If she survives._

His stomach turned leaden and an icy fear crept up his throat as he remembered her appearances in his nightmares. He didn’t even need the sick horror of his sleeping mind to induce the feeling. She had escaped death at least three times in the few short months he’d known her, and only the Maker knew how many more times she put herself in mortal danger when she was out in the field.

He dismissed the familiar bracing for loss that threatened to harden his heart, a reflex honed from the disasters he had experienced with the templars. Elowen had a dangerous task, yes, and she was unbearably likely to die doing it. But he couldn’t bring himself to consider giving her up, not now.

_What was the saying? ‘Tis better to have loved than to…_

_Loved. Love… yes._

_Blessed Maker…  I love her._

The realisation was gentle, effortless. It made sense. He knew what he had to do. Not  _tell_ her, for Andraste’s sake, no. That was impossible. No, he would keep her safe.

He rose from the hard bed, refreshed. Not tired enough to think the demons worth the rest, he got back into his armour (the village seemed friendly enough, but one can never be too cautious). Not forgetting his coin this time, he placed it in a tunic pocket. It had gotten him back safely to Honnleath. He didn’t need it anymore.

_She needs it more than I do._

Cullen crept out of the room, closing the door softly for Terryn’s sake, and descended the stairs to the bar. He found the Inquisition’s group reduced and scattered around the room: three of the men still sitting at their supper table, one at the bar, Lara smiling at a tall local man in a corner. No Elowen.

“The Inquisitor’s gone upstairs, Commander.”

Cullen’s face heated at how obvious his intentions must have been. “Ah,” he replied eloquently.

He considered staying at the bar for a few minutes in an attempt to disguise that he was looking for her.

_What’s the point? They all must know now, if they didn’t before we left Skyhold._

He turned on his heel and marched upstairs to the room two doors down the narrow hallway from his. He listened for a moment, hoping to hear silence, but two voices met his ears: Tilly was inside, too. Privacy denied yet again. He tipped his head back in frustration.

_Maker’s breath, is there nowhere we can escape to?_

And despite taking His name in vain, the Maker saw fit to choose that moment remind him of the final place he’d wanted to visit while they were in Honnleath.

_The lake._

He reached out and knocked on the wooden door.

“Pardon me, Elowen? Can I speak to you?”

Silence for a moment, then Elowen opened the door a crack.

“Evening. What can I do for you?” She asked, smiling.

“I… have an idea.”

“Mmm?”

_She sounds intrigued. Intrigued is good._

“I, uh…” He lowered his voice to a whisper lest Tilly overhear his plan. “If you’re not occupied, would you meet me behind the inn in ten minutes?”

Her expression turned serious and she stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

“Is something wrong?”

“What? No!”

_I am not very good at this._

“I would rather explain there, if you’ll come with me.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Alright. Ten minutes?”

He nodded. “Ten.”

Elowen took a furtive look up and down the dark corridor. Apparently satisfied of its emptiness, she stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. Cullen started at her quick movement and she grinned at his reaction, disappearing back into the little room before he could kiss her back.

* * *

 

The clouds had cleared and moonlight lit the way as Cullen led his love up the muddy slope of the main road. The fact that he was in charge of the dozen soldiers didn’t stop him from feeling like he was sneaking around under their noses. He noticed the village’s old stone statue was gone, probably destroyed in the Blight. They walked between the houses at the top of the hill to the craggy fields beyond.

“ _Now_  will you tell me where we’re going?” Elowen asked.

“No,” he replied, with false seriousness.

She giggled and he smiled despite himself.

“It’s not much further.”

They followed a high ledge around to the left and the sound of gentle waves met their ears. The lake was just as Cullen remembered: smooth, quiet, deserted.

He fiddled with the coin in his pocket as he led her along the short wooden jetty.

“So, where are we?”

“You walk into danger every day. When I asked you to come with me to Ferelden… I wanted to take you away from that, if only for a moment.” Cullen leaned on the high wooden post at the end of the jetty, the position familiar. He gazed out at the lake, enjoying the stillness of the moment. “This place was always quiet.”

“Mm, I could use some quiet. Did you come here a lot?”

He recalled his frequent midnight escapes to that very lake, fleeing the rambunctious tussles of his older brother and sister. He had been rather averse to fighting as a child, in contrast to his current profession.

“I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head. Of course, they always found me eventually.”

“You were happy here,” Elowen observed in a soft voice.

It was a statement, not a question, but he answered anyway. “I was.”

He took his eyes from the tranquil view to look at her. Her eyes were wide and shining in the moonlight as she looked up at him. He thanked the Maker in his head, not understanding what he’d done to deserve being led to her.

“I still am.”

She smiled at him, but he wasn’t sure if she’d caught his meaning.

“Did you mean to come here all along?” She asked.

“It wasn’t my plan. But after what happened at Redcliffe… ugh.” He shook his head. “This trip has not been what I hoped.”

She winced at that. “I’m sorry.”

“You? It wasn’t… Maker’s breath, it’s nothing  _you’ve_  done.”

Her expression relaxed. “Oh? So what  _had_  you hoped?”

Cullen sighed. “I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously as he felt his face heating. “I hoped it would be a little more… romantic, I suppose. I should’ve realised taking you camping with a dozen soldiers probably wouldn’t hit the mark.” He chuckled and gestured to himself. “This is me trying to be romantic. I’m  _definitely_  not very good at this.”

She raised an eyebrow with a smile he could only describe as  _wicked_. “You did quite well at it the other night.”

The heat in his face moved elsewhere as he recalled the delicious feeling of her skin under that green robe. The sight of her in it had driven all thoughts of the Arl’s approaches from his mind. It had been like his most private fantasies had come to life at the most inopportune moment possible.

She took a step closer to him. “And now, you have me all to yourself.”

“So I have.”

His words came out like a growl as he pulled her to him by the waist and kissed that wicked smile. She grabbed onto the top of his tunic and he remembered his original purpose in bringing her to the lake.

_Though this seems like a fine purpose, too._

He pulled back, reaching into his pocket for his silver coin.

“The last time I was here was the day I left for templar training. My brother gave me this.” He held it out to her, feeling its weight in his palm. “It just happened to be in his pocket but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.”

“Cullen Rutherford, breaking the rules? I can’t believe it!”

“Until a year ago I was very good at following them, most of the time. This was the only thing I took from Ferelden that the templars didn’t give me. I should have died during the Blight. Or at Kirkwall, or Haven, take your pick! And yet, I made it back here.” He held the coin out, offering it to her, feeling instantly stupid.

“Humour me. We don’t know what you’ll face before the end. This can’t hurt,” he rationalised.

“I’ll keep it safe,” she said, as she took his offering to examine it. There was no trace of mocking in her voice.

“Good. I know it’s foolish, but…” He folded her into his arms, safe for now. “I’m glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each romance scene from the game feels like an achievement. We made it to the lake! Wooo!
> 
> But now the desk is next and I have to write porn for the internet. Eeee D:


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slow progress in the fight against Corypheus and her return to Skyhold send Elowen back into old patterns of thinking.

Elowen 

The journey back to Skyhold was only two days longer from Honnleath than from Redcliffe, but it was hard going. Autumn had brought heavy snowfalls to the mountains. Elowen was thankful she had had the foresight to pack a set of woollen underclothes, but it was still not quite enough to keep her warm at night.

It didn’t help that Cullen was  _right there_  with her;  _he_  could have helped her warm up. Among other things he could’ve helped with. But each evening she would spend a couple of hours working up the courage to ask Cullen to come to bed with her and each night she would get cold feet, so to speak, mumbling “Goodnight” to the group and retreating to her tent alone.

She was sure now that he wanted her, too. His words reverberated around in her psyche every few minutes, sending shivers through her, keeping her in a state of constant, tight anticipation of his touch.

 _“I want to see how loud I can make you moan,” he said_.

 But more than once he had said something along the lines of “keeping their private affairs private,” and she didn’t want to risk embarrassing herself in front of the soldiers they travelled with. She had enjoyed getting to know them while she travelled through Ferelden with Cullen and she felt she had managed to earn their respect. She feared Cullen’s hesitation or (Maker forbid) rejection would instantly ruin the group rapport. Or that’s how she rationalised it, anyway.

_I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford. Just uncontrollably aroused._

She tried to keep herself otherwise occupied planning her work for the coming weeks. She had resolved to return to Emprise du Lion and finally take Suledin Keep, despite the unpleasant gurgle of fear the prospect produced in her abdomen. The Inquisition had maintained their camps there well and Suledin had been kept effectively under siege since she’d last been there; the red templars would be crumbling.

After days of travel, the sight of Skyhold high and secure above them brought her a sense of comfort. Despite the lack of privacy and the awkward advances of Arl Teagan she had loved travelling with Cullen, getting to know him better away from their work. But the routine of life at Skyhold, not to mention its warm beds, cooked food, and fireplaces, beckoned her up the steep path.

Passing under the gate at Skyhold had become a kind of switch, turning Elowen’s mind to business and responsibility, and this time was no different, to her relief. Cullen had kept her thoughts even more scattered than usual and she was beginning to feel impatient with their lack of progress in finding Corypheus. At least Suledin Keep was one thing she could do, and a war council was another.

_Time for work!_

She made to head straight to Josephine’s office after a quick thanks and goodbye to their party at the stables. A strong hand on her forearm stopped her on her way out of the stables and into the watery sunshine.

Cullen’s hand slid down to hold hers and he gently tugged her around to face him.

“Where are you running off to so quickly?” He asked, a playful lilt in his deep voice.

_What is he joking about? I have work to do…_

“Uh, to Josephine’s office? I thought I ought to call a war council.”

His grip slackened a little at her seriousness, but she waited for him to continue. Eventually he murmured, too quietly for anyone but her to hear, “Without saying a proper goodbye?”

His ears reddened and though he held her gaze, his quickened breath told her he was nervous.

_Nervous? After what he said to me the other night? This man…_

She smiled, trying to play along with his earlier teasing. “What’s a proper goodbye?”

At his half-smile her own ears began to warm. The heat spread to her face as he took a step closer and brought his free hand up to cup her cheek.

“This.”

His kiss felt searing in the cold air, but it was chaste. Their bodies didn’t even touch. But it was  _in public_. That knowledge kept a bashful smile on her face as she walked on unsteady legs up to the great hall.  _Whatever happened to private affairs being private?_ She wondered, but decided she didn’t really care. He had kissed her regardless of who was watching, like he was  _proud_  of it, and it made her heart race.

* * *

 

Elowen had a chance to wander around Skyhold and talk to her friends before she met her advisors in the war room. Empress Celene’s liason, Morrigan, had finally arrived, and Elowen found her in the courtyard, reading alone. She found it difficult to trust the unusual mage, but Leliana had vouched for her character, if not exactly in a glowing manner. Elowen knew Morrigan agreed to work with them because she wanted something, she just didn’t know what it was.

Vivienne pulled her aside as she came to say hello, requesting that Elowen go fetch her the heart of a snowy wyvern for a potion. Elowen was reluctant to agree, especially given that Vivienne refused to give her any meaningful details about the purpose of the potion. But something told her the Enchanter would not have asked if it weren’t something important, so she agreed, on the condition that Vivienne would accompany her on the hunt. It helped that a wyvern had been sighted in the Crow Fens near the Exalted Plains – Cullen had commissioned a report on the collapsed archway leading to the Fens weeks ago. She jogged up to her quarters to fetch it before the war council.

_More work. Good. Progress._

Elowen met Josephine in her office on the way to the war room and they walked to the council together. There they found Leliana and Cullen in silence, she reading a letter intently and he leant over the war table, brow furrowed. He stood as they entered and Elowen hoped to give him a smile, but his stormy expression stopped her.

“What is it?” Elowen asked, apprehensive.

“I have a possible lead on the search for Samson.”

“From Dagna’s research? Or…”

“Not exactly.” He stood straight, moving his hands from the war table to rest on the hilt of his sword. “While Dagna’s had some success with her red lyrium samples, she needs more details on the armour. I’ve just read a report from one of our patrols in Emprise du Lion.”

He nodded in Leliana’s direction, who passed the letter to Elowen.

“They found some orders in the mine that mention Maddox…” Cullen’s words repeated what she read in the letter. He sighed, looking troubled. “A name I did not expect to hear.”

Elowen wracked her memories for a mention of a “Maddox.” She could think of none.

“Someone else from your past?” She asked.

“In a way. This is  _complicated_.”

Cullen shook his head and began pacing along the war table, an agitated pattern Elowen was coming to recognise. He told them the story of Samson’s smuggling of Maddox’s love letters and the consequences of their disobedience. Elowen gleaned a new understanding of Cullen’s unquestioning deference to Meredith – if she would make a mage Tranquil over love letters, she must have had the Kirkwall templars firmly under her heel. But if Samson had rescued Maddox, as it appeared he had, maybe that earnestness Elowen had seen in his letters was genuine. Maybe Samson  _wasn’t_  a monster.

“Perhaps there’s something left of the man Samson used to be?” She ventured.

Cullen scoffed, sceptical. “Or he’s shrewd enough to know an extraordinary resource. It seems Maddox built Samson’s armour for him, and maintains it still. Tranquil in Kirkwall needed rare and expensive supplies for their enchantments – supplies we can trace.”

His face turned severe, and Elowen wasn’t sure she liked what she saw in his eyes – a kind of obsessive ferocity, like his usual self-assurance had mutated into something darker.

“I can have our men kick down some doors. Samson’s armour might lead us right to his stronghold.”

For a moment Elowen held his gaze, considering what to say. They needed to find Samson, yes, but to “kick down some doors” sounded far too  _thuggish_  for the movement she’d tried her best to lead. They were supposed to be a force for good in the world. Even if it could help them in the struggle against Corypheus, was terrorising civilians worth it?

No.  _She_  decided how things were done around here, and she was not going to allow Cullen’s want of vengeance to muddy the Inquisition’s purpose. She knew his heart was good, but his judgment was being warped, twisted up in the unpleasant episodes of his past. There was another way they could do this.

“This is a good lead.” She leaned over the war table, indicating the main roads that lined southern Thedas. “Set up patrols along the roads and at bridges and have soldiers search for any sign of Maddox’s materials.”

“I will do so,” Cullen replied.

Then she took a deep breath and drew herself up to her full height, and although she was still inches shorter then Cullen, it helped.

_I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford._

Elowen continued, meeting his eye. “But there is to be no ‘kicking down of doors,’ no threats or intimidation against the common people, Commander.”

His eyebrows rose at her use of his title.

“The vast majority of travellers will be innocent, and they are to be treated as such. I will not have the people of Thedas cowering in fear from the Inquisition.”

Her speech out of the way, she went on. “This will obviously require some subtlety. I’m confident you can handle it, Cullen, but Leliana may have some useful advice?” She looked to her Spymaster for her reaction.

“I am happy to assist,” Leliana chimed in.

Cullen nodded, his look guarded. “By your orders, Inquisitor.”

Regret seeped in immediately at  _his_  use of  _her_  title, Elowen second-guessing her instructions as Josephine gave her updates on the Inquisition’s alliances and a rundown on a Comte du Somewhere and a Lady Whatever, who were visiting the Inquisition that week. Elowen tried to listen. But she probably wouldn’t even meet them. She didn’t intend to stay in Skyhold for more than a day or two. Especially now.

_Oh, Maker, why did I have to be so bossy? I’ve probably ruined whatever we’d built in Ferelden…_

_Don’t. You are the Inquisitor. This is your duty._

“And that’s everything for this afternoon, I believe.” Elowen’s attention returned at Josephine’s words. “Does anyone have anything else to address?”

“I do, yes.”

“By all means, Inquisitor.”

“I’m going back to Emprise du Lion, to take Suledin Keep.” All eyes went to Elowen. She kept hers moving between Josephine and Leliana, studiously avoiding Cullen’s face. “The red templars there should be weakened by our occupation of the area. They’ve been stranded for weeks. I’ll head to Orlais tomorrow morning.”

The two other women nodded in assent, apparently having no advice on the matter. Cullen’s opinion remained unknown.

“In addition, Vivienne has asked for the heard of a snowy wyvern,” she continued, tone apologetic. “She has evidence of one such wyvern living in the Crow Fens. Chief Engineer Bernardine examined the pathway some time ago…” She held up the report on the path to the Crow Fens.

“Cullen…”

_Look at him._

“What…”

_You have to look at him._

“What do you think?”

_I am not afraid of Cullen Rutherford._

She looked. His face was mostly blank, with one eyebrow lifted. Scorn?

“You’ve seen the report. Our workers can clear the path.”

“Ah. Yes. Right.” Her gaze retreated to the report in her hands, cheeks blazing. “Please supply Bernardine with what she needs.”

“I will see it done.”

Elowen nodded to the table and made sure she was first to leave the war room. At the sound of her advisors’ conversation continuing behind her, her brisk walk turned into a determined march. Courtiers leapt out of her way as she crossed the great hall. Taking the stairs to the library two at a time, she found Dorian settled in his favourite armchair, a heavy tome in his lap. He looked up at the clatter of her hurried footsteps.

“Hello! I heard you were back.”

Elowen walked toward him.

He lowered his voice a fraction, but not enough to prevent eavesdropping, to her annoyance. “How was your romantic getaway?”

She crumpled to her knees in front of him, her face in her hands. She answered him with a muffled groan.

“Not well, then, I take it?”

Another groan. “No, it was fine. It was  _amazing_. I’ve fucked it all up, though.”

“ _Really_? I can’t believe it. That man looks at you like a starving dog looks at a butcher’s shop.”

She brought her head up to grimace at him. “Ew. And  _you’ve_  never even seen a starving dog.”

“It’s a  _metaphor_. Something you Marcher savages wouldn’t have heard of.” He closed the thick tome with a puff of dust and rose to replace it in the bookshelf. “Maker, you haven’t come to  _talk_  about it, have you? You know how I despise hearing about your  _feelings_.”

“Absolutely not.” He was joking, of course, but Elowen had absolutely no desire to relive the details of the war council yet. She planned for that to happen over hours of analysis with Dorian in  _at least_  two days’ time.

She clambered to her feet to face her friend. “How do you feel about coming to Emprise du Lion with me?”

A hint of concern in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly, replaced by his usual nonchalance. “Thrilled. When?”

“Tomorrow at dawn?”

He smirked. “It’s a date,” he said, and pulled her into a firm hug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this has taken so long to upload! I went overseas and took my laptop (which I never use for writing) with me to work on the latest chapters I've been writing. I thought I was very smart and organised. Turns out I neglected to take *this* chapter to upload.
> 
> Hopefully absence of updates makes the heart grow fonder? ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In her socially anxious frenzy, Elowen tries to leave without saying goodbye. Cullen will have none of that. In the meantime, the Inquisition's people finally catch up with the red templars, leading them to the Shrine of Dumat.

Cullen

Cullen had his work cut out for him after the war council. Once he had worked his way through a dozen reports and addressed the dozen urgent concerns that had come up in his absence, he met with Leliana in his office to plan the search for Maddox’s supply lines. The Spymaster’s advice was gratefully taken on all accounts, and Cullen was thankful for her experience. He was almost tingling with anticipation –  _this_  time they would find Samson,  _this_  time they would finally bring him to justice.

By the time they had briefed the relevant officers and agents on the plan, the sun had sunk below the mountains. His final task for the day was a meeting with Iron Bull and the Chargers in the Herald’s Rest. He left his office to find Skyhold covered in a thin blanket of snow, glowing pale in the dim light of dusk. He walked quickly along the battlements into the warmth of the tavern, finally glad Elowen had insisted on having the hole in his bedroom ceiling fixed. He didn’t actually like the idea of being snowed on in his sleep.

Cullen accepted Krem’s offer of a drink as he sat down with the Chargers, the ale warming him from the inside in defiance of the cold weather. The meeting was short, only updates on the Chargers’ activities, and he let himself relax a little in the satisfying glow of progress. Tired after the weeks’ travel through Ferelden, he planned on accepting Bull’s customary offer of a second drink, for the first time, after the meeting. However, to Cullen’s surprise and disappointment, the Qunari was the first to rise when the meeting was over.

“Heading off early in the morning, need my beauty sleep,” he explained in response to Krem’s mocking.

_Heading off? Not with the Chargers, they’re not leaving for the coast until next week…_

“Where is it you’re headed?” Cullen questioned.

“Suledin Keep with the Boss.” The revelation was plain on Cullen’s face, and nothing escaped the Iron Bull. “Thought  _you’d_  know that, Cullen.”

_Suledin Keep._

His stomach became leaden.

_Critically injured._

“What time do you leave?”

“Dawn,” was Bull’s answer.

_Maker’s breath._

“Ah.” Cullen worked to keep his features relaxed. “To bed with you, then,” he said lightly, with a wave of his own empty tankard.

As soon as Bull was out of sight, Cullen made his excuses before crunching through the snow to the great hall, taking the stone steps three at a time. “I need to see the Inquisitor,” he barked to her guard, and he took to pacing along the dais as he waited to be invited up.

_What is she thinking?_

He scoured his memory, sure he would have remembered her saying she planned to make another attempt at Suledin so soon. He would have remembered that. But try as he might, he couldn’t think of such an instance.

_No, she just mentioned it for the first time at today’s war council._

It was clear in his memory: that had been the start of the roiling in his guts that day.

_Why didn’t she mention it while we were travelling? She can’t have just made the decision today…_

The sound of footsteps from the tower stilled him and brought a little relief. He would see her soon. Everything would make sense. Cullen looked at her guard expectantly.

“I’m sorry, Commander. Her worship is not seeing visitors.”

“Visitors?” He asked, dubious.

_Must be a mistake._

“Did you tell her worship  _who_  the visitor is?”

“Yes, Ser.”

_Not a mistake. She doesn’t want to see me._

He mumbled his thanks to the guard and made to head back to his office when he remembered Leliana’s permanent presence in the Rookery. Perhaps  _she_  would some insight into Elowen’s apparent deathwish.

He found her leant over her desk, writing. The rookery was empty at that late hour, save for the two of them. He paused for a moment, collecting himself in preparation for Leliana’s ever-invasive insight.

“What is it, Commander?” She asked too soon, her eyes not moving from her work.

As casually as he could manage, “Have you spoken to Elowen since the war council?”

“Yes. Why?”

His face burned hot with an unfamiliar emotion.

_She doesn’t want to see me. Just me._

Leliana finally raised her eyes to him, laying her quill down neatly.

_Keep your voice steady._

“Did she tell you anything about her plans for Emprise du Lion? I wasn’t aware of them until this afternoon.”

“Neither was I. And no, she didn’t say anything about  _that_.”

Cullen nodded. “I see.”

Cutting the conversation short, he turned on his heel and marched back down the staircase, aggressively ignoring Leliana’s “Is there something troubling you, Commander?” She knew exactly what was  _troubling_  him.

He rifled through old reports at his desk, all the way back to the last expedition to Emprise du Lion, searching for suggestions of Elowen’s plan to confirm he wasn’t going mad. He wasn’t. She  _had_  just decided, perhaps that very afternoon. And she didn’t want to see him. Since when? While it hadn’t been very private,  _he_  had felt like things were going well on their trip… but when he thought of it, she had been acting strangely in the war council.

His face burned with a new realisation.

_I kissed her at the stables. That must be it. I pushed too far._

He dragged a gloved hand over his face, grimacing, and ignored the mild sense of inadequacy that came with the knowledge that she was ashamed to be seen with him.

 _She doesn’t want to see me. Fine. When…_ if _she wants to again, I’ll apologise._

It seemed a good plan. But Dorian’s report from Emprise du Lion, familiar from a dozen panicked re-readings, drew his gaze from atop the haphazard pile of reports.

_… the Inquisitor was struck by a boulder thrown by an infected giant yesterday. The surgeon’s apprentice reports extensive blunt trauma, broken ribs, and unknown internal damage. She remains unconscious as of this writing…_

He couldn’t let her go without seeing her again. It’s not like he could stop her; she’d made that clear in the war council, where she seemed to have finally grown comfortable with being a leader. He considered writing her a note, but there was no guarantee she would read it. He resolved to find her before she left the next day, to… what? Wish her luck? Ask her to please avoid mortal injuries this time?

_It doesn’t matter. I have to see her._

Putting the urge to think of the right  _words_  out of his mind, he scribbled a missive for the lieutenant at the Tower Camp to prepare to support the Inquisitor in her attack. Another note bound for the barracks to urgently send reinforcements to Emprise du Lion. Hopefully they would arrive in time. He jogged up to the rookery to send his instructions away, supporting Elowen the best way he knew how, short of following her into battle himself.

Snow continued to fall through the night. Under three blankets, Cullen fell into a restless sleep filled with demons and dragons, his love cold and alone at their mercy.

* * *

 

Grey light filtered through the small windows of Cullen’s bedroom. He jerked awake, his mind in the same agitated activity as it had been the night before, as if he had never slept.

_Not dawn yet._

Blankets thrown to the cold floor; trousers, shirt, boots, and coat hastily pulled on, he stumbled down the stone steps to the courtyard, muttering a prayer to Andraste that he wouldn’t be too late to see her.  _Just to see her._

The stables were deserted, the only sounds the gentle shifting of the horses in the early morning, muffled by the layer of snow outside. Elowen’s Strider was still safely in her stall.

_Not too late…_

He whirled around at the sound of footsteps approaching in the snow.

“Good morning!” Was Dorian’s chipper greeting. “Looking for someone?” He interrogated with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Are you going to Orlais with Elowen?” Cullen demanded.

“I am. Are  _you_  joining us?”

“What do you think?” He snapped. He had no time for Dorian’s banter. He had to  _find_  her.

Cullen stormed out of the stables before reconsidering. He faced his friend again.

“You will  _not_  let anything happen to her.”

“ _Anything_? You’ll have to-”

“Don’t fuck with me, Dorian,” he cut in, rage taking control of his words. His feet carried him back to Dorian. Close. Staring him down. “ _You. Will. Keep. Her. Safe._ ”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Anger was slipping into desperation. He jogged up the stairs to the upper courtyard, frantically scanning the empty space for Elowen.

Movement at the corner of his vision.

She was coming down the stairs from the great hall, dressed in a mail shirt and her brown leather prowler coat. She stopped dead when she saw him. She dropped her eyes, and his heart blocked his throat.

He went to her, needing to touch her, but her shyness kept him back.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she looked up at him, surprised.

“ _You_  are?  _Why_?”

He hesitated, doubt of his explanation for her caginess creeping in. What was going on?

“Are you not… Did I not push too much – make you uncomfortable – yesterday?”

Hey eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t look away, and Cullen held her gaze like a lifeline.

“A little… I thought you were angry at me.”

It was Cullen’s turn to be confused. “What for?” He ventured a few steps closer.

Her cheeks grew red. “For opposing you, for challenging your plan to find Maddox.”

Cullen’s head was spinning. He barely remembered the war council.

“I don’t… I’m not angry about  _that_.” He took another step toward her. “I’m not  _angry_ ,” he corrected.

“You’re not?” She almost looked  _scared_ , a look he hadn’t seen on her face for months. That was the worst part.

“No.”

Her face relaxed just a little at his denial.

“You’re the Inquisitor! I’d be worried if you  _didn’t_  oppose me. Maker, Elowen, don’t doubt yourself on  _my_  account.”

“Oh.” Her expression was thoughtful for a moment. That was better than scared. “What were you apologising for?”

“I thought…” He couldn’t keep the flush from his face and his voice grew quiet. “When I kissed you at the stables yesterday, I’d done something you didn’t want.”

Her eyebrows rose and a laugh escaped her lips. “Oh, Cullen, no.  _That_  was something I wanted very much.”

“Really?” He asked, his former trepidation all but gone.

Stepping closer, he pulled her into him and kissed her again. Remebering why he was looking for her in the first place, a hollow feeling shot into his chest. He held her tight, resting his face in her hair, not moving for a moment.

“Elowen…”

“Mmm?”

“I had to see you. Why are you leaving like this?”

She sighed into his chest. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’ve been planning to go back to Emprise du Lion for the last few days. When I thought you were… I thought I might as well leave as soon as possible. Things always seem simpler out there.”

That didn’t seem like a very good reason to Cullen.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” She paused. Queitly, she said, “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

Cullen’s control was slipping, his face tightening involuntarily into some sort of anguished grimace. He held her tighter to keep her from seeing. When he spoke, his voice was a murmur. “Last time you were there, you were nearly killed.”

She pulled back to look at him, her eyes round as she took in the pained expression on his face.

“The giants are dead. The red templars have been stranded from any supplies for weeks.” Her eyes hardened. “This will be easy.”

He didn’t believe her. But he said, “I hope you’re right.”

He kissed her forehead gently and pulled her close again. Her hands stroked up and down his back and it calmed him a little. She smelled sweet and clean, with something like almonds.

 _I love you_.

“Come back,” he whispered.

“I will,” she promised.

* * *

 

Leliana let herself in to Cullen’s office one afternoon, clutching a letter in one hand. Cullen glanced over at her as he spoke to a small crowd of his officers, planning patrols from their fortresses abroad. The Spymaster said nothing, just stared at him, expressionless. If the letter was what he suspected, it was urgent news. She clearly wanted secrecy, and Cullen was happy to give it to her.

“I’m sorry, everyone; could you please excuse us? We’ll continue this later.”

They nodded and left, and Leliana approached him at his desk.

“I received this half an hour ago,” she said in a low voice, passing the letter to him. It was written hastily in code, with a translation in Leliana’s narrow hand below.

_Tracked caravan of magical items to Temple of Dumat. Didn’t get close enough to confirm identity of party, but looked like red templars. Gave coordinates to soldiers for ambush: will confirm as soon as possible._

Cullen read the translation a second time, excitement building. This could be it.

“Where is this?” He asked, keeping his words nonspecific. Leliana’s overly cautious vagueness was rubbing off on him.

“Northern Orlais,” she replied. Cullen nodded.

“I’ll let you know when an update arrives, it should be no more than an hour,” said Leliana, dragging Cullen’s eyes from the page. “Tell Elowen what we know, but don’t include any details in your letter.”

He nodded, by now used to clandestine communications. She left him, and he immediately scrawled a message to Rylen at Griffon Wing Keep, requesting he ready a squadron of soldiers for a battle of indeterminate size.

He pulled out a second sheet of parchment and pondered how to write to Elowen. She had left three days ago and they hadn’t yet had word from her. He put quill to parchment and wrote, suppressing the insidious fear that she wasn’t alive to receive his message. He would deal with that later, with a training dummy.

He slid his messages into envelopes and addressed them before heading up to the rookery to have them sent off. As he entered the tower, Leliana stood to greet him and Cullen’s heart thumped in his stomach as she handed him another latter. His men had captured and interrogated the red templars a short way from the Shrine, confirming it as Samson’s headquarters.

_This. Is. It._

He scribbled a note to Elowen outlining the confirmation on a piece of Leliana’s parchment, and slipping it into the envelope beside his first, he passed both to the agent in charge of the rookery with a smile. It was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, they didn't sex yet. They're too awkward.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen has finally tracked down Samson, but other duties keep getting in Elowen's way.

Elowen

The rustling of her boots in the snow was too loud as Elowen led her friends, and a tiny army who followed her on “Commander’s orders,” through the gates of Suledin Keep. With Dorian, the Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Cullen’s dozen-or-so delegates at her back, she was as supported as she could hope to be, but it didn’t stop her shaking. She marched quickly to try and pretend she wasn’t.

_What if they’ve infected another giant? Or more?_

But the keep was almost deserted, just a few red templar sentries posted at the entrance. They didn’t have a chance to spread word of the Inquisition’s attack. Nevertheless, once the insurgents wound their way through the labyrinthine fortress and its inner baileys, the core of the red templars’ forces seemed to be expecting them. The final few courtyards were a blur of red and Inquisition green, and slowly the rhythm of the fight grew stronger than the erratic, frightened beating of Elowen’s heart.

When they reached the highest courtyard of the keep, Elowen ordered the little group of soldiers to secure the rest of the keep: she didn’t need the added trouble of manoeuvring rifts around friendly bodies. Imshael attempted to bargain, of course, offering money or power or similar. Elowen was in no mood for talk. The battle was almost textbook: Bull took the fear demon’s attention while Dorian and Vivienne immobilised and panicked the red templar minions as Elowen picked them off with arrows. The red templars were defeated by the time Imshael took his rage form, and unlike the fear, Elowen was willing to engage it directly.

Despite being soothing, the methodical pace of the fight grew tiresome, and the anchor surged impatiently on Elowen’s left palm. She raised it, reaching, searching, finally grasping and pulling through the veil, opening a rift into the fade, and what had been Imshael was sucked into it, never to return.

After hoisting the Inquisition’s flag atop Suledin keep, a heavy thump on the shoulder from Bull, and a facetious joke from Dorian, the four companions trekked wearily back through the snow to the Tower Camp. The camp was alive with celebration, soldiers and scouts stationed in the wintry corner of Orlais finally seeing a chance to head back to the comparatively balmy Skyhold. After a quick victory address before the ale was opened and meeting with the leading officers at the camp ( _Regina and Horren_ , she remembered), Elowen retired to her tent with a flagon of mulled wine to keep away the chill as she drafted a report for her advisors. It had been a while since she’d written a report, and while she tapped her quill idly on parchment waiting for the will to write, she was interrupted by a blessed messenger.

“Letter for you, your worship.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a smile. The smile became genuine as she recognised Cullen’s handwriting on the envelope and her stomach did a little flip. She opened the letter eagerly.

_Elowen,_

_We tracked Samson’s remaining red templars escorting a supply caravan to a hidden location in the wilderness. It could be his headquarters. I expect verification before the hour is over; I’ve already begun preparing a squadron of soldiers to accompany us._

_Allow me to debrief you in person when your duties permit._

_Maker keep you._

_Cullen_

A squadron of soldiers to accompany “us?” Of course Cullen would want to be there when they captured Samson, but almost as soon as the happy fluttering at the idea of going to battle with Cullen, images of  _what could go wrong_  flooded her mind. They hadn’t even found a way to counter the red lyrium armour, for Andraste’s sake…

A second leaf of parchment moved against the first. Elowen read it quickly in an attempt to banish the unwelcome thoughts.

_We have him! I will give you the details when you return to Skyhold, in case this letter is intercepted. We cannot risk losing this opportunity._

Finally they could strike out at Samson, perhaps finding out more about Corypheus’s strategy in the process. Elowen grinned for Cullen – she wished she could have seen the smile on his face when he heard the news.

She held off the urge to reply to Cullen immediately. It was incentive to get the report written. She outlined the details of the battle and the keep and mentioned the promise she made to Vivienne to collect a snowy wyvern’s heart.  Vivienne’s request seemed more and more inconvenient now they had pinned Samson down. They would have to be quick about it if they were to attack his headquarters directly. But Elowen couldn’t bring herself to break her promise to the enchanter, especially when she had been so helpful in capturing Suledin Keep.

 _We will be quick_ , Elowen promised herself.  _It’s just one wyvern_.

Her report written, she turned to the indulgence of replying to Cullen’s letter, business-related though it was.

_Dear Cullen,_

_That is excellent news. I will hurry back: I can’t wait to be “debriefed in person.” You lecher._

_You say a squadron of soldiers will accompany “us” – will you be coming, too?_

_Elowen_

The Tower Camp showed no signs of calming down as evening set in, merry voices getting louder as the supply of ale was consumed. After handing her missives to the most sober messenger she could find, she turned in to bed in defiance of Bull’s shouted invitations to join the merrymaking. She wasn’t a very experienced drinker, but she had the idea that a day filled with fear and lowered inhibitions wouldn’t mix well.

She barely managed to remove the pointiest pieces of her armour before crashing into her bunk, and with the strange feeling that she was, perhaps, a vaguely competent leader, Elowen fell asleep.

* * *

 

The road to the Exalted Plains was a miserable one. The weather didn’t seem to get any warmer as they descended into the lowlands from Emrpise du Lion, but snow and ice were replaced by rain and mud, the ruined landscape unable to absorb the chilling winter showers.

They met Chief Engineer Bernardine in the late afternoon at the now-repaired passageway near Fort Revasan. Bernardine was a stout dwarf woman with tightly braided blonde hair and a somewhat ruddy complexion. Elowen greeted her warmly.

“The passageway is clear and safe, your worship.”

“So I see! Thank you very much.”

Bernardine held up a hand. “No need to thank me, I’m paid either way.”

Elowen was a little taken aback by the engineer’s brusqueness, but kept it from her face. “Well, good. Feel free to pack up camp and follow your workers back to Skyhold,” she said, observing the apparently empty workers’ camp.

“Follow my…? They haven’t left yet, your worship.”

“Oh?” Now that she concentrated, she could hear the low hum of a dozen snoring people coming from the camp. And a large pile of empty kegs. “Oh.”

“For your information, Inquisitor,” Bernardine continued. “One hundred seventy kegs of ale are not nearly enough for fifteen hardworking Inquisition men and women.”

Elowen heard Bull’s low whistle behind her. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, suppressing a smile.

They dispatched a small pack of gurguts before setting up a campsite just inside the entrance to the ruins. Her companions would have been happy to stay overnight before setting out on their hunt for the snowy wyvern, but Elowen drove them onwards, conscious of the time she was losing to Vivienne’s wishes. The sun was low in the sky and the deep walls of rock that surrounded the fens kept them shivering in shadow.

After an hour or so of wading through knee-deep stagnant water, Elowen couldn’t keep the impatience from her voice when she asked, “Do you have any idea where this wyvern could be, Vivienne?”

“My dear, I made it clear that I am working on rumours. I’ve no idea when we will find the beast.”

Elowen groaned inwardly. She mentally set a time limit: if they didn’t find the beast by tomorrow, they would head back to Skyhold without the heart.

Dusk was turning to night and Elowen was on the verge of turning them back to camp for visibility’s sake alone when Vivienne hissed, “There.” She pointed to a hulking white mass a dozen yards away.

Elowen sprang into action immediately. The fight was a short one, but harder than she expected. Once everyone was patched up and dosed with antivenom, Elowen pulled out a dagger she’d brought for the occasion and steeled herself for the dissection. She felt a little sorry for the animal; an ugly, albino thing, its gleaming hide criss-crossed with scars from a violent life. Silently saying a little prayer for it, she made to plunge the dagger into its chest, but barely made a scratch. She tried again, unsuccessfully. After putting her full strength into the incision, she made a shallow hole in the scaly hide. After hacking away at the hole she had made a messy gash, and disgust at the appearance of the beast’s sternum beneath was replaced with frustration. She stopped to rest, panting, and turned to see Dorian and Vivienne sitting on a dry rock both looking equally bored. Bull was a few paces closer, grinning at her with amusement, his huge battleaxe slung over his shoulder.

“Need some help, Boss?”

Elowen reluctantly accepted the offer, stubbornness relenting to practicality. Bull’s axe pierced the wyvern’s chest with a disgusting  _crunch_  and Elowen apprehensively set about cutting out the heart. Minutes later, covered in drying blood, she approached Vivienne. The enchanter rose, gracious smile plastered on her face, and reached out for her hard-won prize.

“I am ever so grateful, my-”

“If you want this heart, you will tell me what you’re using it for.”

Venturing days out of their way, putting the capture of Samson on hold, trekking through a stinking ruin and getting covered in the wyvern’s disturbingly cool bodily fluids had expended Elowen’s patience. If Vivienne wanted this heart, Elowen was going to make damned sure she was using it for something beneficial to the Inquisition.

Vivienne’s smile receded, but she did not falter. Of course not. “I can do better, darling. Give me the heart and I’ll  _show_  you what it’s for. Will that suffice?”

“What does that involve?”

“The potion itself is not particularly difficult to brew, I will do that at our camp as soon as possible. Then I will deliver it to Val Royeaux, and you will see its purpose.”

“ _Val Royeaux_?” Elowen had to stop herself from swearing. Another few days before she could get back to Skyhold and for Maker knows what?

“You can’t simply  _tell_  me what it’s for?”

Vivienne paused for a moment, her look becoming truly icy. “I’m afraid not. I would gladly go alone, if you do not wish to accompany me.”

Elowen sighed. She got the feeling that Vivienne didn’t really want to go alone, thought she could detect some vulnerability beneath her cool expression. It may well put an end to their delicate friendship, and Elowen didn’t want that. Not  _really_.

“Fine. We set out at first light tomorrow.”

* * *

 

It was truly night when they arrived at the campsite. They found one of Leliana’s agents waiting for them. He handed Elowen a letter, with a “For your eyes only, your worship.” She pocketed the unmarked envelope and retired to her tent rather grumpily, racking her brain for a way to get to Samson before it was too late.

Coming up with nothing, she sat at her makeshift desk and wrote out a report to her advisors explaining that she would be delayed in her return. She made no mention of the plans to ambush Samson – reports were not secret and were often passed around to anyone who was interested.

When she opened the unmarked envelope, the sight of Cullen’s handwriting gave her a smile for the first time in a couple of days.

_Elowen,_

_We received your report about capturing Suledin Keep – ~~I am so~~   ~~I was~~  You don’t know how relieved I am._

_Yes, I wish to go with you to Samson’s headquarters. My duties usually keep me at Skyhold, but at your leave, this time I would make an exception._

_And using “debriefed” as a double entendre? I hope you can do better than that. You asked if I would be coming, and I have answered. I intend to make sure you come, as well._

_Lecher-Commander Cullen_

Elowen felt the blush that came from Cullen’s final paragraph despite the cold night.

_Maker’s breath, I might just go up in flames if I don’t have him soon._

She had strategising to do, but decided instead to fantasise about Cullen riding to meet her in Val Royeaux for a secret tryst at an inn. At least in an inn there would be some privacy, compared to Skyhold. She would be alone at the bar, and he would tap her on the shoulder, she would be oh-so-surprised to see him, they would make their way upstairs…

Her eyes widened in clarity when she realised this fantasy might actually solve her problems. Well, not that fantasy _exactly_. She didn’t know precisely where Samson’s lair was, but she and her advisors  _had_  previously theorised it was in Orlais. If so, she could negate the time wasted on Vivienne’s potion by asking Cullen to meet them in the city. Elowen pulled out her quill and parchment and wrote.

_Lecher-Commander,_

_You have my leave to join us, of course. As you have probably read in my report, I will be delayed in Val Royeaux for a number of days. You have not told me the location of our mission, but if it is in Orlais, we may be able to save time if you and your soldiers meet us near the city – what do you think?_

_Perhaps you can debrief me there._

_Elowen_

* * *

 

Their party booked a couple of rooms in the guesthouse just outside Val Royeaux that Elowen had stayed in during Blackwall’s arrest. Vivienne would be staying at Duke Bastien’s townhouse, and just as well: Elowen could hardly imagine her slumming it in a rented room, no matter how lavishly furnished. Dorian and the Iron Bull stayed behind while Vivienne led Elowen to finally see the purpose of her precious potion of viscera.

Vivienne was quiet as they walked and Elowen wasn’t particularly bothered. They stopped at a large townhouse in typical Orlesian style not too far from the royal palace. At Vivienne’s imperious knock on the door, they were let in by an elven servant. Elowen grew uncomfortable as she followed Vivienne up the stairs of a house she did not know. Who lived here? Were they welcome? And a quieter voice in her mind: is this a trap?

At last, they entered a long room – a bedroom? – and Vivienne explained, “This should only take a moment, Inquisitor.” Elowen couldn’t see her face, but her voice was slightly thick, the most emotion she had ever heard in the enchanter’s voice.

Vivienne proceeded toward the large, gilded bed at the end of the room. Elowen followed her more slowly, feeling distinctly out of place. She could make out the body of a man on the bed, but no one she recognised. He wasn’t moving.

Vivienne’s voice was soft as silk as she murmured, “I’m here, my darling.” The man didn’t respond. She stroked his hair gently before pulling out her potion, uncorking it, and gently coaxing him to swallow.

The man’s voice came in a rasp.

“Vivienne?”

Vivienne’s eyebrows rose, and the loving concern on her face made Elowen’s heart ache. “Yes, darling.”

Duke Bastien reached for Vivienne’s arm. “It’s going to be alright, my love,” he breathed, before his arm dropped back onto the bed and his eyes closed.

“My darling? Bastien?”

There was real panic in Vivienne’s voice and Elowen moved to her side, holding her arm.

“Vivienne… I’m so sorry.”

Vivienne closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, her practiced expressionless mask was back in place.

“There’s nothing here now. Let us go.”

Vivienne left Elowen on her way back to the guesthouse, obviously needing some time alone, obviously  _not_  in the guesthouse. It gave Elowen plenty of time to develop her guilt, growing and maturing, almost like a fine cheese. She felt awful for pressing Vivienne and for assuming she was up to no good without evidence. And witnessing the Duke’s death… that was not helping her mental state.

Unwillingly, she remembered Cullen’s confession that he had stopped taking lyrium. “Some go mad, others die,” he had said, like there was no third option. She had comforted herself with the fact that hardly any templars had ever stopped taking lyrium, so whether Cullen would suffer so was unknown.

Now her mind was filled with a different scene: Cullen lying still in his bed, Elowen begging him to take the lyrium potion she offered, his refusal the last thing on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a chapter!
> 
> I am really sorry this one has been so long coming. I may have underestimated how long it takes to write a chapter around full-time work. Just a smidgen.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally ready to challenge Samson, Cullen is faced with more than he prepared for.

Cullen

Cullen read over Elowen’s letter for the last time. Yes, definitely the last time, this time. He felt his face heating and shoved it into his desk drawer as footsteps approached his office door.

The footsteps faded away, down the stairs to the courtyard. He reached for the desk drawer absently.

_No. The last time._

He stood, as if to affirm he had something else he’d rather do. In the morning, he was to leave with the soldiers he’d selected for the assault on the Shrine of Dumat. To meet Elowen. Elowen, who insisted on being “debriefed.”

“Maker’s breath,” he swore to himself.

For now, he had finished all his own work and delegated all delegable tasks, leaving him with a free evening. Tied up all loose ends. It made him restless. And restlessness lent itself to thinking too much. About Elowen. And  _debriefing_  her.

They’d had ample opportunity for intimacy, really. They  _could_  have at Redcliffe, in a tent, probably even could have managed right there in his office. But it had never felt right. He’d fallen for her, that much was obvious. He wanted it to be  _right_ , for  _everything_  to be right with her. He wanted to give her better than the hurried affairs in bunks and cupboards and taverns that comprised his intimate experience.

And he had no idea what to do about that. He had enough self-awareness to know that it made him swing between being a somewhat competent lover and a nervous schoolboy. Adding in the fact that she probably didn’t even want something long-term with  _him_ , being nobility, it was really just a recipe for awkwardness on his part.

Deciding he’d gazed at his navel enough for one night, he resolved to do something with the evening. Maybe even something fun. His usual choice would be the tavern, where Bull and the Chargers would invariably be, but Bull was in Orlais with Elowen and his band of mercenaries were away on their own duties. His next choice would be to ask Dorian for a game of chess, but the mage, too, was in Orlais. Cullen cringed when he remembered the way he last spoke to Dorian. He made a mental note to apologise at the first opportunity. He determined at last to wander into the great hall and just see who was around, feeling a little like the new boy at the monastery.

As he stepped over the threshold into the great hall, he recalled once catching Josephine uncorking a bottle of Antivan brandy late one night on his way from the war room. Perhaps she would have a bottle open.

“Evening, Josephine,” he said as he approached her desk.

Josephine looked up from her desk. “Good evening. How go the preparations for tomorrow?”

“As they should, thankfully. Everything is in order.”

Cullen blinked, having little to say. Josephine smiled expectantly. He realised he hardly ever spoke to her about anything other than Inquisition business, and that he didn’t really know anything about her, despite considering her a close friend. He floundered to dampen the guilt with words.

“I was wondering, ah…”

And then an idea:  _Josephine knows everything about nobles._

Perhaps if he could manage to ask her about how Marcher nobles want their daughters to marry, he might know what to expect with Elowen. And how long she might be willing to...

He ended that dangerous train of thought by talking.

“Josephine, can I have your opinion on something?”

“By all means.”

“In Antiva, do noblewomen… like you, feel pressure to marry  _well_?” He found it hard to get out that last word, the idea of “marrying well” being unfamiliar, at best.

“Yes, I suppose so. As much as noblewomen everywhere.” The last sentence was meant to minimise her confirmation, but Josephine still looked either a little annoyed or a little sad.

“Everywhere?” Cullen asked, searching for a way to get the answer he was looking for.

“Well, not Par Vollen, for example. But most everywhere, yes,” Josephine affirmed. “Although it depends on the family in question, of course.”

Leliana’s voice came from behind Cullen and he was almost proud that he didn’t jump at the sound.

“It is the same in Orlais, and in Ferelden.”

_How long has she been listening?_

“I… see,” he said, looking for a quick exit. “Well, I must be-”

“Why do you ask, Commander? You are usually so disdainful of nobility.”

Leliana had moved to stand next to Josephine and she leaned on the Ambassador’s desk, staring at him. Josephine watched him expectantly. He looked from one woman to the other, trapped.

_Nothing for it, I suppose._

“Do you, ah… Are you familiar with the way things are done in the Free Marches?”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed at him. “What  _things_  do you mean?”

Cullen steeled himself. This was what he’d wanted to know. And Maker help him, he would  _not_  stutter.

“Marriage. M-marriage things.”

_Maker-damned woman._

Leliana smiled broadly at him, apparently pleased she’d forced him into embarrassing himself.

“I believe it depends on the city,” Josephine said slowly, her face determinedly straight. “But it’s much the same as in Ferelden or Orlais. The nobility is largely concerned with improving social standing, making alliances, and producing heirs.”

Cullen tried to keep the crestfallen look from his face. He really did.

“Don’t look so sad, though, my good Commander. All nobles are not the same.” Leliana left Josephine’s side and walked to him, giving him a little pat on the shoulder. “For example, our Inquisitor is the youngest of Bann Trevelyan’s children, and as her older siblings are already married well, her match is not  _very_  important. She told me that since she hadn’t yet married, she was being readied for the priesthood before she joined us. I am sure her family would be pleased if she did manage to make a match, though.”

Cullen turned to Josephine, hoping for a less humiliating response. “And Elowen would not be… I don’t know… _disowned_? If she married a commoner?”

“I couldn’t say,” Leliana said, as Josephine said nothing.

 _Some help you are_ , Cullen thought at Josephine.

“You would have to ask her,” Leliana continued. “But the Commander of the Inquisition is a little more than an ordinary commoner, no?”

Leliana’s smirk had become a proper grin and Cullen was sure his face would never go back to its normal colour. He sighed.

_No point in dancing around it anymore. Not that there ever was much point with Leliana._

He held his hands up warily. “Maker knows I’m not planning to  _propose_   _marriage_  to her. I suppose I just… don’t want to turn this into more than she wants.”

“That is very diligent of you,” Josephine remarked, her composure slipping, visibly trying to hide a smile and failing utterly.

“But I don’t think many people find  _diligence_  very attractive,” Leliana said to her friend.

Cullen scoffed. He would just have to talk to Elowen herself about it, Maker damn it all.

“Thank you both for your  _expertise_ ,” he said, his self-assurance returning in his defensiveness. He glared at them both in what he hoped was a very serious way. “I don’t need to explain this conversation was had in strictest confidence.”

“Of course,” Leliana replied with an arch of her thin eyebrow.

Cullen marched as proudly as he could from Josephine’s office. It was only once he’d stepped safely into the great hall that he heard their peals of laughter through the door behind him.

* * *

 

The weather warmed slowly as Cullen and fifty soldiers, including scouts, mages, and healers, rode west along the Imperial Highway. It became downright lush as they reached the Heartlands of Orlais, the land verdant and productive from the winter rain. They were to meet Elowen near Val Foret, a small town west of the capital. Leliana had been insistent on the location, explaining that a large gathering of Inquisition soldiers and leaders somewhere as visible as Val Royeaux could alert Samson’s agents to their plans.

They set up camp out of view from the road outside the town, ready to attack the next morning. The mood was hopeful: should they succeed, Corypheus’s forces would be crippled, bringing the Inquisition’s goals one step closer. Cullen savoured the chance to direct the Inquisition’s forces directly – it had been too long since he had last been in the field. He made sure the squadron would be well-rested and primed for the morning  - they had grappling hooks, ladders, and a battering ram to bear on the march – and directed a small group of scouts north to liason with Inquisition agents closer to the Shrine before sunset.

Previous reconnaissance reports had described few soldiers entering and leaving the compound, suggesting the force stationed there was not large. Still, they had no real way of knowing what was waiting for them in the Shrine. He prayed fifty soldiers would be enough.

Elowen’s party met them at camp not long after sunset. Cullen hoped reports of a giant, one-eyed Qunari travelling with three humans, two  _very_  flamboyantly dressed, would not render their attempts at secrecy for naught. He introduced the party to the soldiers, briefly amused at the primness of his men when Elowen shook their hands, reminding himself that most of the Inquisition didn’t first know her as a prisoner.

As he mentioned Dorian’s name the mage caught his eye and Cullen felt a flash of guilt. He approached the other man once the introductions were over and the camp began to settle down for the night.

“Dorian, could I have a word?”

“With you, Commander? Any time.”

They made their way to the edge of camp, still in view of the others, but far away enough to make their conversation private.

“I’m sorry, Dorian. For the way I last spoke to you, that morning at Skyhold.”

“That’s quite all right.”

“No, it isn’t,” Cullen insisted. “I let my worries get the best of me, and I took it out on you. It was foolish.”

“There’s no need to explain, Commander.” Dorian raised his eyebrows wolfishly. “Love does strange things. Even to the best of us. Who would have thought?” Dorian’s voice was light, but the small smile that lifted his mouth told Cullen the apology hadn’t been entirely unnecessary.

The two men rejoined Elowen, Bull, and Vivienne and Cullen led them to the Commander’s tent to be debriefed (according to the usual definition of the word). The plan, subject to the scouts’ inbound reports, was for the whole squadron to depart before dawn, leaving a contingent of soldiers and healers at an arranged location a quarter of a mile from the Shrine while the remainder, along with Elowen’s party, led the assault.

After they had agreed on the details, the others left Cullen leaning over the map, the weight of his armour heavy on his hands. The campfire was burning down, leaving little heat or light, but it was just enough for him to reassess their tactics once, twice more…

“Planning on sleeping tonight?”

Elowen’s soft voice made him jump – he hadn’t heard her coming. Or perhaps she hadn’t even left? Hot blood made it way to his ears at the thought of unintentionally ignoring her.

 _And I’ve forgotten what she said._   _Perfect._

“Ah, what?” He replied meagrely.

“Are you going to bed? Or were you going to keep staring at that map all night?”

He noticed she’d changed out of her armour. Looking outside the tent, the camp was still and the fire only embers.

He returned his eyes to the map. “Some of my best ideas have come from staring at maps in the middle of the night,” he said, without looking up.

_Maker, I must be delirious._

But Elowen smiled at his poor joke.

“I hope this isn’t a trap. Corypheus has ambushed us before.”

“It’s a possibility, but our people are well-trained. We are as prepared as we can be for what’s waiting for us.”

He meant it to be reassuring, both for Elowen and himself, but she didn’t look very convinced. She held his gaze, the laugh in her eyes gone, eyebrows pulled taut.

“Cullen, I need you to be careful. Samson still has his red lyrium armour. I could have done this myself-”

“All the more reason for me to be here,” he interrupted, finally standing straight, his shoulders rejoicing at their freedom from his weight. Cullen was amazed. How could she even consider doing this with just a couple of friends with her? “We have scouts, spies. Fifty men and women at our backs. You wouldn’t know  _what_  you’d be walking into if you’d come alone.”

She sighed. “You’re right,” she said, nodding. “This is a  _much_  smarter way of going about it. Much less likely to get us all killed.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Cullen’s eyes were wandering back to the map – _what about the eastern roads?_ – when she continued.

“I suppose… it’s just that I haven’t seen you fight,  _properly_ , before. I’m not sure I like the idea.”

He stared at her, perplexed for a moment, before realising she was  _worried_  about him. The idea was strange to him. Backwards.

“This won’t be my first battle, you know.”

Her cheeks were glowing red. “I know,” she protested. “But  _seeing_  it is… oh, never mind.”

He knew what she meant, if it was anything like how he felt about going into battle with her again. Not that he would presume to hold such importance to her. As long as she didn’t fall into any more rifts, everything would be fine. He hoped.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” Elowen announced. “Or, to tent. If you have any great ideas, come share them with me.”

Distracted again by the map –  _Must send a pair of scouts along the eastern road first thing_  – Cullen failed to detect her suggestion. He continued on for another couple of hours before finally heading to bed hours after everyone except those on watch. As he settled down into his furs, to Cullen, the mild night air seemed to carry a hint of the scent of victory.

* * *

 

The dawn was bright and clear as the Inquisition marched toward the Shrine of Dumat. All had gone to plan – the camp packed up before the morning dusk, the squadron marching as the sky lightened, and they were due to reach their destination within the hour as the sun rose. Northern Orlais was not the Heartlands, green and productive, but wilder and arid, more like the Blighted desert to the west.

Cullen’s optimism from the previous day was replaced by a single-minded determination – weeks of planning were finally coming to realisation. Samson had corrupted and mutilated those of the Order that trusted him, enthralling them to Corypheus, twisting their purpose from something noble (well, noble of intent, at least) to something evil. He  _had_  to be stopped. Today, the Inquisition was going to do just that.

They reached the location where one group of soldiers and the healers were to remain and readied the main force for the assault. Cullen checked and re-checked the strategy, went through it with the soldiers a final time, and re-read the scouts’ reports to confirm that the situation had not changed.

He was about to give to order to move out when he spotted a pair of Leliana’s agents approaching them through the scrub. He greeted them with a salute to the chest.

“Word for you, Commander.”

“What is it?”

“Something’s happened at the Shrine: red templars leaving in small groups for the past hour or so. Then smoke started coming from behind the walls. That’s when we came to find you.”

Smoke coming from his headquarters could be nothing but bad for Samson, but Cullen didn’t like the possible explanations. At best, an accident. At worst… what, deliberate sabotage?

“Have you engaged those leaving?” He asked of the scout.

“No, Ser.”

“Good. They may still not know of our presence. Were they headed in this direction?”

“No, Ser, they were going east, as far as we tracked them.”

Cullen glanced back at his soldiers, restless at the delay. Elowen and Bull approached Cullen and the scouts.

“What’s going on?” She queried.

“Your worship,” the scouts saluted, before repeating their explanation.

“Doesn’t sound good,” was Bull’s assessment.

“What do we do, Cullen?” Elowen wondered. “Should we continue on?”

“It doesn’t seem like they intend to attack us, but we still don’t know what this means.” He considered for a moment. “If nothing else, an evacuation of soldiers and a fire would make our job easier. I say we push on.”

And at Bull’s roar of approval, they were off again. There was no sign of wandering red templars as they came upon the Shrine. It was a long, walled structure made of sandstone, the low sun casting sharp shadows through the jagged lines of the Tevinter architecture, the foretold plume of smoke billowing up from within.

An unnatural silence greeted them as they approached the gates, and Cullen ordered the battering ram be brought out. As the soldiers prepared to ram the gates, Dorian casually strolled up to the entrance. The massive gates creaked open at his touch.

“No need to knock, apparently,” he observed. “We must be expected.”

Cullen and Bull pulled the wide gates open. The courtyard beyond appeared to be empty, save for a few tents and building supplies –  _for repairs?_  – and the small fire that burned just inside.

Cullen found it hard to believe the vast army that attacked Haven could have been raised in that place. “ _This_  is the heart of Samson’s command?” He asked aloud.

“Looks like he’s not at home today,” said Dorian.

“Maker, tell me he hasn’t fled…”

Cullen turned back to the soldiers following them. He ordered the main group to give chase to the red templars, to capture them and gain information if possible. Samson could be among those who left earlier. A couple more to go back and alert the second host of Inquisition soldiers, for the healers to head to the Shrine and the rest to join the chase. A dozen or so soldiers were to guard the Shrine’s perimeter, for support if needed and to intercept any more escapees.

Finally he, the Iron Bull, Dorian, Vivienne, and Elowen entered the courtyard. It quickly became obvious that the building had been deliberately damaged.

“I don’t see-” Elowen began to say, when they all turned at the growl from a red templar horror to the right. The fort was not entirely empty after all.

They sprang into battle, Cullen and Bull goading the guards and horrors away from the others, Dorian and Vivienne casting supporting spells and attacking from strategic midpoints, and Elowen, largely unseen, picking off vulnerable or distracted enemies. After being struck once or twice on his breastplate, Cullen adapted to taunting the guards to an angle that allowed him to block both their blows and the horrors’ missiles with his shield.

The stragglers in the courtyard went down easily enough, but as Elowen made to open the great doors of the main building, they slid open. Out stumbled a grotesque behemoth, its red lyrium-infested body huge, glistening in the sunlight. Cullen yelled for her to get back and she leapt, spraying the monster with arrows as he and Bull took her place.

It was disgusting: the templar’s body entirely overgrown with the Blighted mineral, only the glinting red eyes in the encrusted face suggesting it had ever been human. But the thing was more fearsome than it looked, and he and Bull easily chipped away at its crystalline body, as long as they could dodge the clumsy swings of its overgrown arm.

Gently, quietly at first, Cullen began to hear something between the clashes of steel and rock. Music? Voices, high and low, but he couldn’t quite make out the lyrics. Was it coming from inside the Shrine? Perhaps if they got closer…

The behemoth was felled without Cullen feeling the need to call for help from the soldiers outside. He counted that a success. They pressed on inside.

The vast hall was burning, the lower storeys belching flames and thick smoke to the upper floors, obscuring their view of the rest of the hall. The song was clearer here. Coming from further inside?

_Why would anyone be singing in a place like this?_

“This place is already half-destroyed,” Elowen said, sounding a little awe-struck.

It was clear now what had happened. Samson had somehow gotten wind of the Inquisition’s coming and destroyed the Shrine, along with any evidence of his plans, before they could. Cullen said as much.

“Looks like he cut his losses and ran,” Bull added.

“I think you’re right,” Cullen agreed, disappointed. No, shattered. Was so much work to be for nothing?

“We’ve still dealt Samson a blow,” said Elowen, and Cullen could see her point, even if he couldn’t feel cheerful about it. With no headquarters, his plans thrown into disarray… Samson would be handicapped, no matter who was responsible.

“Let’s keep going. We could still find something useful here.”

More red templars advanced through the smog and the crumbling building drowned out the sounds of their battle. There were more of them this time, harder to counter, and they began to target the mages and Elowen directly. He heard her grunt of pain as a knight’s swing connected and the rage that boiled up from his gut made his challenge louder: “Think your red filth makes you stronger? Prove it!” From the corner of his eye, she looked fine. He hoped she was.

As they passed through the high archway into the inner chamber and Cullen braced for the fight to continue, an unmistakeable tang mixed with the smell of smoke. Metallic. Like a sharpened knife, like fine jewellery, bright and comforting and insidious.

"Ugh, what's that smell?"

"That’s  _lyrium_ , darling," Vivienne supplied, almost sneering at the Inquisitor’s obliviousness.

How dearly Cullen wished he could be so oblivious.

Two red templar horrors emerged through the haze. The old pain hit him between the eyes like an arrow, shooting through his limbs.  _It’s been a while_ , he noted. He drew his sword and raised his shield against the fight.

The smell of ash and blood and lyrium filled his head, the simplistic habits of battle what compelled him through the clutches of pain and the maddening voices coming from deeper within the shrine. Deeper? No, they were not all coming from beyond… some were coming from around him.

_A song._

Those who touch red lyrium, who get too close, who consume it, hear a song. Cullen forced back the terror of his own insanity – he was not Meredith. Yes, the huge crystals sprouting from the walls and floor were  _singing_ , rising and falling in time with the sickly throbbing light that bloomed through them.

The fight over, the monsters finally slain, Cullen sheathed his sword. The incessant song grew no softer, amplified by the pulsating headache and the fragrance of his old life. Where was it coming from? How much had Samson stashed away here? It would only take a few moments to find it, mix up a philter…

 _No_.

He rested his hand on his pommel – no, gripped it tightly, to keep himself still. It was almost too much.  _Almost_.

Elowen was saying something. He forced his eyes to focus on her. She was looking at him as if she’d been addressing him, but he couldn’t remember what she had said.

“Cullen?” she repeated, eyebrows knitting together. A thin line of blood had trickled from her hair into her left brow. It was an outrage.

“Do you need… anything?”

_Probably. Lyrium – no. Not that._

He held the pommel tighter. The song was too loud.

“Are you injured?”

“No.”

Her hand was on his arm, in the crook of his elbow between the plate. He could feel it through the leather.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

The world was losing its grip on him, but Elowen, she was unquestionably real. He let go of the pommel falteringly, and replacing it with her shoulder, pulled her toward him.

“Cullen, are you alright?” She whispered again.

She held him there, still in her arms – how strong was she that she could stop him from being swept away?

“I will be.”

Her hair smelled like sweet almonds, a reprieve from the cloying fumes. The song slowly relented over the few minutes they stood there, no quieter, but less prominent in his mind. His face felt cool as sweat evaporated. The headache remained. He could deal with that.

He dropped his arms, slipping his hands down to her wrists, not quite ready to let her go. She scrutinised his face.

Apparently satisfied, she said, “The others are waiting for us. Shall we go on?”

_I have work to do._

Cullen nodded his agreement. Regretfully ending her hold on him, he led the way into the final chamber. The fire hadn’t reached that room yet and the air was easier to breathe. He pulled himself forward through the voices of red lyrium crystals tall as trees, toward where the others stood around a dark figure slumped against a black altar.

“Hello, Inquisitor,” it said, and beyond the tranquil’s characteristic flat tone of voice, Cullen recognised Maddox’s timbre. It brought up old memories, and he pushed them away, focusing through into the present. He crouched down to better speak with his old charge.

“You know me?” Elowen asked, surprised.

“It’s Maddox, Samson’s tranquil,” Cullen explained.  Maddox was barely moving, his body slouching against the ancient stone. “Something’s wrong. I’ll send for the healers-”

“That would be a waste, Knight-Captain Cullen.” A flare of irritation at the use of his old title accompanied a tight throb in Cullen’s skull. “I drank my entire supply of blightcap essence. It won’t be long now.”

 _Maker’s breath_ , Cullen swore to himself. Did Samson do this to him? To his old friend?

“We only wanted to ask you questions, Maddox,” Elowen said gently.

“Yes. That is what I could not allow. I destroyed the camp with fire. We all agreed it was best. Our deaths ensured Samson had time to escape.”

Cullen could believe the red lyrium-infested horrors and behemoths would need little convincing to sacrifice themselves, unthinking atrocities as they were. But a  _tranquil_? Devoid of both negative and positive emotions, they were unfailingly rational.

“You all threw your lives away? For  _Samson_? Why?”

“Samson saved me even before he needed me. He gave me purpose again.”

_And discarded you once that purpose was over._

Maddox’s eyes drooped. “I… wanted to help…”

As Maddox slipped away, Cullen was disturbed by his peaceful features, calm and unlined despite the pain that was killing him.

“A dismal place to die…” he lamented.

Elowen’s voice was quiet. “We can’t leave him here. He should be properly laid to rest.”

Cullen agreed and they set out to search the burning building for any clues Maddox might have missed. Vivienne found a substantial pile of lyrium bottles, the source of Cullen’s unrelenting headache.

_How much red lyrium is Samson taking? His resistance must be extraordinary._

Though he steeled himself against the cravings, Cullen decided he’d spent quite enough time in that room. But on his way to the door, his name in Samson’s hand on parchment stopped him. He picked up the letter and scanned it.

_Cullen,_

_I know you have finally come for me. You think you ride to fight an enemy, but you are mistaken. Drink enough lyrium, and its song reveals the truth. The Chantry used us. You’re fighting the wrong battle, my friend. Corypheus chose me as his general, and his vessel of power. He will become greater than any god. I remember your skills. You always were the hardest worker at Kirkwall. You, should you join us, would no doubt hold a lofty place in the last great army._

_Before you blindly destroy all we have build here, meet with me. I will show you the truth._

_Samson_

The familiarity was jarring. How could he remember that life, that man he used to be, and embrace the destruction he had caused? It was nonsense. Absolute nonsense.

Cullen marched out the door and through the next room, wary of lingering much longer in the burning building. Apart from the persistent headache and the all too familiar feeling that he was losing control of his own thoughts, the Shrine was in danger of coming down around them.

Growing impatient with the others’ slow pace, he heard Dorian’s voice.

“Those are lyrium-forging implements. Of  _remarkable_  design. Intact, they’d be worth a fortune.”

Cullen regretfully backtracked down the smoking staircase to a low bench littered with arcane tools. The rush of battle fading away, he was left with only pain and slowly mounting exhaustion in his limbs.

“Tranquil often design their own tools,” he forced. “Dagna should be able to make sense of these. If Maddox used these to make Samson’s armour, maybe  _she_  could use them to unmake it.”

“It’s worth a shot,” Elowen said with a smile, and scooped the tools into her pack. “This might be what we needed all along.”

Cullen didn’t understand how she could smile in that wretched place, but he admired her for it anyway. Finally, blissfully, she led their little squadron out of the Shrine and into the brightest daylight Cullen had ever seen.

* * *

 

The Inquisition set up camp outside Val Foret once more as the sun dipped below the horizon. Cullen watched it from the clearing as he sent a crow eastward with a report for Leliana. It was the first moment of peace he’d allowed himself in days. The throbbing headache had diminished to a nagging pressure. He felt the need to return to Skyhold keenly – there, he could begin to correct his failures. He had work to do.

The Spymaster would be none too impressed at his report. None of his scouts had found a trace of Samson, despite running down dozens of red templars. His abandoned letter proved he knew the Inquisition was coming for him, knew Cullen was leading them… somehow, word had reached him of their plans. How long had he remained, waiting for parley, before fleeing?

The gentle rumble of hooves announced potential news, and Cullen turned to see Elowen and a few scouts returning to camp. He walked to meet her.

“No news, I’m afraid,” was her account. “Any word of Samson?”

“No. He must be far ahead of us by now.”

“Any idea where he might be headed?”

“To join Corypheus, no doubt… wherever  _that_  is.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his sore neck. “We’ve lost them both again.”

She put her hand on his arm, in that same spot at his elbow, and squeezed gently. She was like a balm, soothing his rattled nerves.

“We still have Maddox’s enchanting tools, and Samson’s been uprooted from his seat of command. It’s not like this was pointless.”

She gave him a smile and he managed, just barely, to return it. The smear of blood from the battle, now brown and dried, still marked her forehead. He made to brush it away. He wondered idly how long it had been since they’d spent any time together. Two weeks? Three?

He lowered his voice, conscious of the busy camp around them. “I’m glad you’re back. I… was hoping to see you again before I leave.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You’re leaving?  _Already_?”

“I’ve neglected my duties long enough.” Why should he stay any longer with work waiting for him at Skyhold?

“ _Neglected_  your…? Are  _these_  not your duties, Cullen?”

“Yes, but we  _didn’t catch Samson_. He’s out there, somewhere. He won’t stop, and nor should I.”

She nodded seriously. “I truly appreciate your dedication to our cause, Cullen. I suppose I just… I was hoping…” She trailed off as a bright blush bloomed through her cheeks.

He didn’t understand. “What? Did you have another task here?”

“Not exactly. There are, uh, a lot of others here, don’t you think? A lot of others, and maybe they wouldn’t notice if you or I… disappeared for a while.”

 _Oh_.

A heat crept into his ears and he guessed his flush would rival hers.

“I didn’t think of that. That’s, ah… Maker’s breath.” He stepped closer to her, could feel her heat through his armour, and bent his head to her ear.

“That’s an excellent idea,” he murmured.

The little kiss she placed underneath his chin tingled and he let himself stroke up her back –  _no one is looking_  – tangling his hand in the braid that held back her soft hair. He was so  _tired_. It would be easy to call off the journey back, ask the half-dozen men he’d assigned to return with him to wait until morning…

_An army marching, haven burning, because we weren’t prepared. The city destroyed, abominations in the streets, because we didn’t question. Mages transformed, friends tortured, because we didn’t pay enough attention. Because we didn’t do our duty._

“… I can’t,” he choked. “I’m sorry.”

She pulled back a little, running a thumb along the scar above his lip, making him feel strangely self-conscious. The feeling dissolved when she kissed him.

“It’s alright,” she said. The smile looked genuine. “Go. I’ll see you back at Skyhold.”

_I love you._

“Travel safely,” he wished her, rather meagrely, before turning to prepare to leave as planned.

They trekked across Orlais all night and most of the next day, making a good start on the days-long journey back to Skyhold. All throughout, Cullen received possible leads on Corypheus’s whereabouts from Inquisition agents and ran the armies as best he could via correspondence. It was work enough, until he was back in his office. And each night, as he buried himself in his bedroll on the hard ground, he thought of noble engagements, awkward conversations, and green bathrobes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Insert apology about slow chapter]
> 
> But seriously this is the longest chapter yet in this fic. It kept feeling like filler to write? I don't know. But it's done now! Hooray!
> 
> If anyone has the energy/expertise to give me feedback on what my problem was here, I would appreciate it heaps.


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